


Heartbreaker

by pyrchance



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: All Teenagers are Dumb, Alternate Universe - High School, And That's the Way I Write Them, Dashes of Support from FOB, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor TOP Appearances, Panic Centered, Spencer POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrchance/pseuds/pyrchance
Summary: Spencer refuses to break Ryan's heart.Ryan finds someone else to do it for him.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith/Jon Walker
Comments: 38
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

“We should get into a fight.”

It is a testament to their friendship that Spencer complies without question, socking Ryan in the arm hard enough the other boy yelps and shoves back. Spencer rolls his eyes — Ryan is practically a _twig,_ his shove might as well be a summer breeze — and throws his feet across the other boy’s lap. He reclines against the arm of the couch without ever removing his eyes from their match of Super Smash Bros.

“Happy?” he grunts.

He doubts it, but he wiggles his toes in the way he knows creeps Ryan the fuck out. Sure enough, his feet are shoved promptly to the floor. Whatever. Spencer takes the distraction to shoot blast Link off the platform with a shot from Kirby’s tongue.

“Not like that,” scowls Ryan. He’s spamming the jump button in a futile attempt to get back on the platform. It doesn’t work. Ryan kind of sucks at this.

“I don’t care how much you like _Fight Club_ ,” says Spencer. “I am not punching you in the face.”

“I mean emotionally,” says Ryan. “We should get into an emotional fight.”

Ah. So this was going to be a Conversation.

He should have expected it. It has been a few months since their last big one and Ryan’s shown all the signs — scowling at his notebook, showing up at Spencer’s window after midnight, _insisting_ on a steady diet of terrible rom-coms and even worse foreign movies. It’s been all quiet on Ryan’s home front, but that hardly means everything is _fine_.

Spencer calmly puts down his controller, ignoring the fact that a respawned Link immediately whacks Kirby out of screen. He sits up fully on the couch, tucking his feet under him, and turns until he is facing Ryan straight on.

“Okay,” says Spencer. “I’ll bite. Explain.”

Ryan has clearly been waiting for this. He tosses down his controller and mirrors Spencer’s position.

“You should dump me.”

Spencer blinks. Processes. He smiles wryly.

“I wasn’t aware that we were dating.”

Spencer doesn’t know where this is going, but the fact that Ryan is making steady eye contact with him tells him it can’t be too terrible.

Yet as Ryan keeps staring, saying nothing, it dawns on Spencer that this Conversation might actually be about _him._

“Look, Ryan, if this is your weird way of trying to make me feel better about Liz, let me just stop you now. This plan is not going to work. Dumping you is not going to make me feel better about being dumped.”

Ryan looks at him like he’s being particularly dense. “That’s stupid. You already broke up with her.”

“Yeah, after she stopped talking to me for two weeks. I’m just the one that said it out loud.”

Ryan huffs. “She was boring anyway.”

Spencer would have protested, has protested that exact statement before, except Ryan is kind of right and Liz is no longer Spencer’s girlfriend. Truthfully, Liz was into volleyball and the college admissions process while Spencer was into hitting things and pointedly avoiding the looming threat of adulthood. The only thing real they had in common was third period Calculus.

“So this is not about Liz?” Spencer asks, just to confirm.

“Obviously not.”

“Okay,” says Spencer. When Ryan doesn’t say anything more, he cocks his head. “You’re going to have to paint me more of a picture here.”

Ryan sighs like this is an unbearable _such_ a hardship. His eyes slide off of Spencer to glare at the wall. “You love me right?” he asks.

Spencer nods, cautious. Ryan does not talk about feelings, let alone the big L one. Maybe this _is_ going to be terrible.

“Yeah,” says Spencer. “Yeah, of course I do. And I know you love me too,” he adds, because he knows Ryan won’t. “What going on?”

Ryan scowls again. It takes him a moment to get the words out, but when he does he practically spits them. “I’m stuck. I’m stuck and I hate being stuck and everything I write is the same old shit and it sucks and I hate it.”

Ah. So this was a writing problem. Spencer relaxes back into the couch.

“You’re writing isn’t shit,” he says, old as rote.

Ryan ignores him. He’s energized now, swiping a hand through the air as he speaks. “I need something new except everything in my life is the same. I’m just living the same day over and over again. It’s all just school and homework and hanging around not doing anything. It’s nothing. I don’t do anything. I’m not creating anything. I’m just existing. I’ve got nothing worth writing about because I haven’t done anything. My experiences are limited.”

That was a lot. That was a lot for both of them. Spencer probably should have a better grade in English for all the close reading he does trying to parse through Ryan’s words.

Part of this sounds like Ryan’s usual misunderstood artist spiel, albeit tinged with a touch of senior year panic. Part of it even sounds like every dude ever complaining about being a virgin. Regardless of if it is either of those things, though, it’s Spencer’s duty as Ryan’s best friend to work him through it.

“And your solution is to dump me?” Spencer finally says.

“For you to dump me,” Ryan corrects quickly. “I want to write something that _means_ something. I can’t write about love, because I’ve never been in love. I can’t write about heartbreak, because my heart has never been broken. But you — you know, _love_ me.” His face burns red at the word, tripping off his tongue like he’s swallowed it. Ryan’s eyes do not leave the wall. He is very pointedly _not_ looking at Spencer. “You could do it.”

Yeah, no. Spencer is going to stop that train of thought right there.

“I am not going to _dump_ you, Ryan.” He’s getting mad even thinking about it. “What would that even look like? You’re my best friend. I’m not going to get rid of you just so you can get, what? Artistically sad?”

Ryan crosses his arms and finally looks at Spencer with a ducked chin. “It wouldn’t be forever. We could just get in a fight and maybe yell at each other a bit and then you could ignore me for a month.”

“No,” says Spencer.

“A week.”

“ _No_ ,” repeats Spencer. He picks up his controller and blasts Link off the platform. Discussion over. “Get someone who doesn’t love you to hurt you.”

Ryan is silent for a long moment. Spencer doesn’t let himself look over to see what his face is doing. After a long, tense minute, the second controller is picked up.

“Fine,” says Ryan.

Spencer would like to say he is relieved, but he just isn’t that stupid.

They are standing in the locker room for PE when it happens.

Locker rooms are not Spencer’s happy place. His general strategy is to face his locker, tug and replace his shirt as quickly as possible, and ignore every piece of conversation happening around him.

Ryan is usually right there with him, except that today he is not. Today, Spencer pulls his gym shirt down and glances to his left only to see his best friend practically _glaring_ across the locker room.

Spencer follows his gaze and his train of thought in seconds.

“Ryan, no.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. Do not do what I think you are about to do.”

“What am I about to do?”

“You _know_.” Spencer shoves his backpack in his locker and slams it close. Ryan doesn’t so much as twitch. “Do you even know any of their names?”

For most people attending their high school, not knowing the names of the slim, acne-free, athletic pretty boys currently on the end of Ryan’s hungry stare would be a crime. For Ryan, it’s a fifty-fifty toss up.

Ryan’s eyes narrow. His head tilts. “I’m pretty sure one of them is in my English class,” he says finally.

“Uh huh.”

“It might be…Brandon?”

“Nope.”

“Brad?”

“Colder.”

“Whatever,” mumbles Ryan. “Their names aren’t important.”

The boys in question are currently hyena-laughing together, shirts off, backs to their lockers like they actually have the right to be secure about their bodies in high school. Spencer is burdened with the knowledge of knowing their names: Pete, Jon, Tyler, and—the one that is escaping Ryan’s memory—Brendon.

They’re not actually bad dudes, Spencer knows. Spencer has talked to each of them in one class or another and they’re all perfectly friendly. Jon even partners with him occasionally in history. It’s just that their social circle is infinitely wider and more intimidating than either Spencer or Ryan’s.

Spencer doesn’t know which is more unfair: the idea of Ryan inflicting himself on their hapless lives or the thought of them attempting to _socialize_ with Ryan.

“Please don’t do this,” Spencer says.

“You’re not my mom.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“That’s the point.”

It is a bit like watching a car slide slowly off an icy road. Spencer wants to grab the wheel and pump the breaks, but he knows any interference will just make things worse.

They play basketball in PE today. Normally, this means Spencer and Ryan walk slowly around three-quarters of the gym and jog the last fourth whenever they pass in front their teacher’s eyes.

Today, it goes like this:

[Act 1, Scene 1, enter RYAN onto the BASKETBALL COURT.]

Ryan: Hi.

Basketball Bros [together, confused]: Hey?

Ryan: Can I play?

[BASKETBALL BROS exchange glances. They are confused and startled.]

Basketball Bros: Yeah?

Pete [a smirking asshole]: Uh, I mean, can you?

Ryan [hunching his shoulders, looking very small]: I guess I was hoping one of you could teach me?

It’s disgusting.

Spencer might actually vomit watching Ryan pull the same _little old me_ look he once used to con Spencer’s mom into giving him extra ice cream when he was eight.

It’s worse because this means _Spencer_ now has to play basketball. Not that Spencer has anything against sports per say, but he does have a general policy of limiting his sweating to drums only and definitely avoiding it altogether at school.

The experience is actively _bad_ because not only does he have to play basketball, he has to do so while keeping an eye out for more of Ryan’s tricky tricks _and_ playing with people who are actually good at basketball (Tyler) and/or are athletic in general (Pete, Brendon, Jon). Spencer is actively red-faced and exerted by the time the period ends, and has had far more exposure to what must be Ryan’s flirting face than he ever wanted to see.

Apparently, Ryan’s definition of flirting is standing quietly next to cute boys, staring, blinking, and in general being a little awkward gremlin.

Spencer is _appalled_ to see such tactics actually work.

“You guys should totally play with us tomorrow,” Brendon says, as they all shuffle off the court towards the locker rooms.“Tyler and Pete get way too competitive. It kind of sucks the fun out of PE.”

“Fuck you, Urie,” Pete says delightfully, already stripping out of his shirt a good thirty feet out of the locker room and swatting with it at Jon.

Ryan looks on with blatant intent. Spencer snatches hold of his hand and _squeezes_.

“Sure.” Ryan turns his stare to Spencer and attempts to squeeze back. Again, twig. “It beats walking around the track.”

“You hate sports.”

“I’m chimerical,” says Ryan. “I can change.”

Spencer and Ryan’s staring contest ends only with a low whistle sounds behind them.

“Man.” Brendon is grinning, looking between the two of them. “No wonder Mrs. P is nuts over your essays, dude. _Chimerical_ ,” he echoes, shaking his head. “We should partner or something on the next project. I’ve always wanted to pair up with a genius.”

He’s still snickering as he marches towards the locker room.

Genius. He called Ryan a genius. Ah, fuck.

“Let go of my hand, Spence,” says Ryan.

“Ryan.”

“ _Now_ , Spencer.”

Spencer lets go. Ryan goes two-timing it after Brendon.

A hand slaps Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer had almost forgotten Jon and Tyler were walking with them. His already hot face burns under their twin looks.

“Your friend is weird and sucks at basketball,” Tyler mutters, walking away.

Jon’s hand on Spencer’s shoulder squeezes a second, before letting go. “You can ignore that,” he advises. “He wouldn’t have said anything if he didn’t like you.”

“I get it,” Spencer says, because he does. That doesn’t make him any less protective of Ryan though. “I might punch him though if he says anything else.”

“That’s cool,” Jon shrugs. “Do I need to prepare to punch your friend for whatever all this is?”

Jon’s eyes are brown and glittering, like brass buttons, when Spencer meets his gaze.

“I don’t know what you mean,” says Spencer, slowly.

“Okay,” smiles Jon.

They reach the locker room door. Jon opens it. Spencer looks inside. They both see Brendon and Ryan at the same time. Brendon has his shirt off and is chatting happily. Ryan is red-faced and still.

“Okay,” says Spencer to Jon. “Perhaps prepare to punch a little bit.”

“I’ll be gentle,” promises Jon. “That kid is built like a twig.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback feeds the soul. Also, bother me @[pyrchance](https://pyrchance.tumblr.com) if you like!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a silly story written because of writer's block. Enjoy!

Spencer learns quite a few new things at school that week.

First, _Moby Dick_ is a terrible book and the people who like it are definitely lying.

Second, college applications are due in two weeks. This is probably something Spencer should have known before, but alas.

Third, the actual definition of chimerical is: _a thing that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve_. It does not mean people change. In fact, it’s pretty much the opposite.

As much fun as it is to hold Ryan’s misuse of a word over his head, sadly Spencer’s hope that this terrible plan will end is more chimerical than Ryan’s attempt to implement it.

They play basketball in PE for the entire week. Ryan somehow cons Brendon into pulling a _High School Musical_ and teaching him how to shoot, complete with hands on hands and back to chest action. Spencer is so mad he actually manages to score on Tyler and Tyler is so impressed he doesn’t even frown when he and Ryan walk onto the court the next day.

By the time the weekend rolls around, Spencer is ready to bury himself in his blankets and not come out until Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately, Ryan is a monster with few qualms about sweet talking Spencer’s mom into letting him into their house at 9am on a Saturday.

“Get up. I need a ride,” Ryan says, turning on the lights and flinging car keys onto his lap.

“Out,” moans Spencer, curling into his blanket burrito.

“I’ll buy you a coffee. Come on.”

Because Ryan is evil, Spencer winds up yawning behind the wheel of his mom’s car as Ryan feeds him directions. When those directions lead to a _Smoothie Hut_ and not a _Starbucks,_ Spencer turns to Ryan betrayed.

“What the actual fuck? Ryan Ross get your skinny ass back inside this car right now!”

Ryan has already unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped out the door. “I’m sure they have caffeine.”

It all makes sense when they walk in the door and are assaulted by a beaming Brendon.

“Hey! You guys made it!”

Brendon is wearing a bright green apron and a little name tag that says: _Branden_. It is both sad and charming and Ryan is a little bastard that Spencer will make pay.

“When can you leave?” Ryan asks, once their order is placed and no one else creeps up behind them in line.

“Not until noon,” Brendon says over the grind of the blender. “Sorry. I should have said that. I didn’t think you’d drive all the way over here.”

“It’s not problem,” says Ryan. He swats away Spencer’s fingers when Spencer goes to pinch him. “We can wait.”

“Really? That’s awesome! Thanks!” Brendon smiles.

And okay, Spencer gets it. Brendon is sort of sunshine personified. It sort of impossible not to like him. It makes Spencer that much more bitter when they’re both given their drinks and settle in on a table near the window, Ryan flicking open a notebook and glancing at Brendon appreciatively.

“Don’t you think its kind of mean?” asks Spencer. “You’re leading him on.”

“Please, we’re just friends.”

Spencer is pretty sure Ryan hasn’t made a new friend this fast since kindergarten. “The fact that you can call him that already sort of proves my point. He thinks you’re actually into him.”

“Half of the school is into him. He’s bound to be used to it.”

“What are you going to do if he actually likes you back? What if he wants to be your friend for real? Or your boyfriend?”

Ryan glances up, blowing his bangs out of his face. “I doubt that will happen.”

Spencer reaches across the table and closes Ryan’s book before he can turn back to it. He holds his hand on the cover to prevent Ryan from reopening it.

“You’re ignoring what I’m say here.”

Ryan meets his eyes. “I’m not in control of his feelings. If he falls for me for real, that’s his own problem.”

Ryan says this so callously, Spencer actually flinches.

“That’s mean, Ryan.”

Ryan’s face closes down. It’s a familiar flat look.

Spencer scowls back at him, because someone has to call Ryan out on his bullshit and Spencer wouldn’t be friends with him if he didn’t know how to fight back. He isn’t surprised when Ryan ignores him in favor of turning all of his attention to his notebook, jerking it out from Spencer’s hand and curling over it. That’s just typical.

Spencer pulls out his phone in turn. Fine, they won’t talk then.

And just like that, Spencer realizes Ryan has gotten his fight after all. 

Spencer and Ryan are still not talking when noon rolls around and Brendon skips up to their table sans apron. He’s practically bouncing on his feet.

“So, what did you want to do today?”

There is something vindicating about the nervous glance Ryan sends Spencer’s way. It seems that someone doesn’t have a plan. Ryan’s idea of a good time is sitting in dark rooms, dark theaters, or dark moods. Nothing too terribly charming for someone like Brendon.

“Uh, you choose,” Ryan says, all awkward pauses and hesitation.

Brendon frowns. “You sure? You guys just waited like two hours for me. I feel bad.”

“It’s fine,” says Ryan.

Brendon’s look turns to Spencer. Spencer sighs. “Yeah. You decide. We weren’t doing anything today anyway.”

“Alright,” Brendon sucks in a breath and looks around. “We could catch a movie? Or — do you guys skateboard? We could go to the skatepark.”

“Movie,” Ryan and Spencer say immediately. Brendon grins.

“Yeah, okay. Hey, have you guys seen that new superhero movie yet? I’ve been dying to go.”

Ryan makes a face. Spencer laughs, seeing it.

“I’m down,” he says, taking pleasure in the glare Ryan shoots him, like he hasn’t been dragging Spencer to art house films for years.

Ryan leans forward, looks almost like he might actually reach out and _touch_ Brendon, before his hand slips down and rubs his knee instead. “I was thinking we could see something more…intense,” he says, looking at Brendon.

The subtly makes a beeline over Brendon’s head. “Like a drama? Oh, or you mean like a horror movie?”

Bingo.

“Horror.” Spencer grins, shark-like. “Definitely horror. We’re both big fans.”

Under the table, a foot kicks his shin. Spencer smiles wider.

“And you should definitely invite the guys,” Spencer adds. “The more the merrier. It’s always great to spend time with our new _friends_ , isn’t it Ryan?”

Ryan’s smile is a fixed study in attempted murder. “Of course,” he says stiffly. “I _love_ our new friends.”

“Um, okay.” Brendon looks between the two as his eyebrows crawl up his face. “I feel like maybe I’m missing something here, but, uh, I think you guys are pretty cool too?”

Ryan smiles far too wide to be natural.

“I’m so happy to hear that, Brendon,” he says, blinking up at him. “I really like you. I hope that you like me too.”

Ryan barely even winces when Spencer’s foot grinds his into the ground.

That little shit.

In the end, its just Jon that climbs into Spencer’s car.

Brendon reports that Tyler has ’church stuff’ and Pete is still asleep, the lucky bastard. Either way, Jon shoots a suspicious look at the backseat when he climbs in. Ryan’s taken to treating Spencer like a chauffeur so he can sit in the back and make eyes at Brendon.

“So Ryan.” Jon shuts the door with enough force to rattle the car. “You’re into horror movies? What’s your favorite type?”

“Uh,” begins Ryan and by the tone of his voice he has picked up that something is _not quite right_.

“Oh, he loves horror,” cuts in Spencer. “Especially the really gory ones. Blood, blood, blood, you know? He really can’t get enough of it.”

“Is that so.” Jon’s eyes slide over to Spencer. “And you?”

“Yeah,” grins Spencer. This time he isn’t even lying.

The car ride to the theater takes no time at all and Spencer is pleased to see the way Ryan wilts and refuses to look at the poster for _The Scary Boy_ or whatever the movie is called. Spencer doesn’t really care what they see, only that Ryan regrets every minute of it.

They queue up for their tickets and make it inside, where Spencer has to listen to Ryan’s annoyingly smooth proposal to get Brendon to split snacks with him. Spencer ignores it. That’s fine. Let someone else deal with Ryan’s obsession with putting Reese’s Pieces in the popcorn. Just to be contrary, he turns to Jon and offers to share his four-dollar package of Sour Patch Kids in exchange for some Whoppers.

They settle into their seats. Ryan pointedly sits away from Spencer, on the end next to Brendon, leaving Spencer the outside next to Jon. There is no way to do this subtly, so Spencer isn’t surprised when Jon leans over as the previews roll.

“What’s up with you two?” Jon asks.

Spencer scowls into his candy. “Nothing.”

“You’re kind of emitting rage waves, right now,” Jon says. “Like seriously, I can almost see them. I bet I could cook an egg on your head.”

“I am not — wait, what?”

“Yeah, I thought that might work.” Jon’s got more of a scruff than a high schooler ought to. When he smiles through it, the beard makes him look annoyingly wise and zen.

Spencer squints at him. “Are you like actually secretly weird?”

“Nah,” says Jon. He giggles then, breaking the weird guru vibe. “It’s not a secret. I am, however, actually a little bit high though. Fair warning.”

And huh. In spite of everything his parents think, Spencer doesn’t actually spend much time with people who smoke or drink. Ryan and he both don’t, and they keep their own company the majority of the time.

Spencer admits he’s got bit of a chip when it comes to alcohol, thanks to Ryan’s dad, but something in the loose way Jon holds himself makes something in Spencer’s shoulders relax too. Picking up on Jon’s quiet laughter and smiling back, it’s the first time since Spencer rolled out of bed that morning that he doesn’t feel like throttling someone.

“Seriously though,” Jon says, as his humor dies down. “Is everything okay?”

His first instinct is to lie, but the words taste bitter on his tongue. He’s already so pissed off with Ryan for leading these guys on. He doesn’t want to be a hypocrite.

Spencer glances over Jon’s shoulder, to find Ryan and Brendon are dipping chocolate-smeared hands into the same popcorn bag and whispering. His stomach clenches.

“Not really. No.”

_The Scary Boy_ turns out to be about a boy who is quite scary.

At least, that’s what Spencer gets out of the little squeaks of terror Ryan keeps emitting every time the volume changes. He’s admittedly paying more attention to that than the screen, but he is enjoying every minute of it.

Jon and Brendon are fixated on the movie. Jon’s a mutterer, and hasn’t stopped whispering snide comments about the characters into Spencer’s ear, while Brendon is a classic peep-through-his-fingers type.

Ryan is also looking at the screen, but the expression on his face can only be described as sheer dread. He’s sunk down into his chair and is holding onto the arm rests with both hands, Reese’s popcorn abandoned.

When something jumps on screen, Ryan turns his whole body away, curling up with his face pressed into his seat. For one moment, Spencer actually feels sort of bad. He knows Ryan doesn’t sleep well and hopes he doesn’t get nightmares or anything.

But then their eyes meet. Ryan’s gaze goes from terrified to flat and pissed in one second flat. Spencer isn’t surprised when Ryan stands stiffly and walks out the aisle. Ryan never could stand to be embarrassed.

Spencer is _not_ going after him. He decides this at once, crossing his arms and slumping down in his seat. He ignores the way Brendon’s head turns to track Ryan and the burn of Jon’s gaze on the side of his face.

It isn’t his _job_ to fix things every time he and Ryan get into a fight, _especially_ when Spencer knows he is right. Ryan is acting like a selfish jerk. Spencer isn’t wrong here.

The sound in the movie drop abruptly as the next scare draws near. This is the only reason Spencer hears the rustle of fabric next to him and Jon’s low voice mutter in his ear, “Rage waves, Spencer. You’re practically soaking in them.”

Spencer glances at Jon. Jon smiles back.

In the seat next to Spencer, Brendon stands up and leaves.

Spencer, for better or worse, does not.

After the movie, they find Ryan and Brendon in the tiny theater arcade, smushed into the seat of some racing game. They stand quickly when Spencer and Jon walk in. Spencer doesn’t pretend not to see the red flush on both of their faces.

Ryan meets Spencer’s eyes with a steady, challenge. His scarf is mussed around his neck.

Spencer turns around and marches back to his car.

The drive home is strained and awkward.Spencer keeps his hands on the wheel and doesn’t respond to Brendon’s attempt at chit chat or Jon’s increasingly frequent looks or Ryan’s silent fury in the backseat.

On Sunday no one comes to his door or through his window. Spencer sleeps until noon, wakes up and bashes on his drums until his mom yells at him to keep it down, and takes a long, hot shower.

The notification comes as he’s getting ready for bed.

**Ryan Ross**

Just Now

❤️

**In a Relationship**

Today

[Like] [Comment]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback feeds the soul. Also, bother me @[pyrchance](https://pyrchance.tumblr.com) if you like!


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re traveling!”

“Am not.”

“I just saw you take like five steps.”

“Prove it.”

“Just pass the ball, idiot.”

“Whatever. Yo! Spence!”

Pete chucks the ball. Spencer’s face explodes in a pop of red heat.

“Ah shit.” Pete looks sorry, even as he begins to giggle. Tyler scoffs at them all, unimpressed as Spencer bends over his knees and clutches his nose.

“You both suck at this,” Tyler says, picking up the ball and dribbling. He ignores Pete’s affronted squawk and deftly sidesteps his swipe at the ball.

“Still pretty?”

Spencer scowls up at Jon. Jon’s smile is mild and amused as he takes ahold of Spencer’s t-shirt and tugs him towards the bleachers.

“I fucking hate basketball,” snuffles Spencer through his throbbing nose.

Jon tugs him up a few flights of seats, then eases onto the bench beside him. He kicks up his feet and keeps smiling. “Yeah, well, tell Ryan to give back Brendon and maybe you won’t have to play.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Spencer cradles his nose and pointedly does not look up. There is absolutely nothing in this gymnasium that Spencer wants to see. Not Pete’s shoulders shaking with laughter. Not Tyler easy shots towards the basket. Not Ryan and Brendon, dark heads bent and touching, slowly walking the gym together.

He especially does not want to see the teasing glint in Jon Walker’s eyes as he reaches over and pulls Spencer’s hand off his face.

“You’re fine, man. Your nose is just kinda red, not crooked.”

“I fucking hate this game.”

“Yeah, I got that part.”

“This class is fucking terrible.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m going to punch Pete in the balls if he doesn’t stop laughing.”

“It won’t be the first time,” Jon agrees, nodding firmly.

Spencer’s scowl deepens with every inch of Jon’s relaxed spine. Spencer is trying to be pissed off at the world right now. Jon’s zen is killing his mood.

Spencer glances away. He has to, or else he might _actually_ punch something, which is not something Spencer likes to do much as he often feels the urge.

Looking away is a mistake however, because at that exact moment Ryan and Brendon pass in front of the bleachers. And because Ryan is Ryan, and Ryan is actually annoyingly good at sensing when things are going wrong, Spencer finds Ryan’s gaze sitting squarely on him. There’s a lift in his eyebrows that Spencer knows to be a silent question of concern. He’s waiting for Spencer to ask him to come over. To check what’s wrong. Spencer wants to feel reassured by this. He really does.

But at the same time, Ryan’s fingers are tangled with Brendon’s and they’ve each got a sneaky headphone snaking up their gym shirts and into one ear. Brendon hasn’t noticed Ryan’s distraction. His mouth is moving, his eyes bright and eager, and he’s looking at Ryan like Ryan has hung not just the moon but flung the stars into the night as well.

So when Ryan cocks his head, asking silently if Spencer wants him there, Spencer scowls right back. Then Spencer lifts his ass and turns his whole back on his best friend.

He ignores how wrong it feels to turn away from Ryan. He sticks Jon in the stomach with a finger.

“I feel fucking sick,” Spencer declares.

Jon blinks at him. Jon blinking takes double the amount of time as a normal person’s. Spencer is still learning to calculate exactly how much of this is him being high and how much is just Jon. Jon seems high rather a lot.

“You okay?”

“Get up. You’re taking me to the nurse’s office.”

“I am?”

“I want an ice pack.”

Jon finally sits up. His face is skeptical. “You need a buddy system for the nurse?” he asks, but he climbs down after Spencer when Spencer goes to talk to the teacher. Pete and Tyler play a massively unleveled game of one-on-one. Ryan and Brendon are gone, already halfway around the gym, not that Spencer means to look.

He pretends he can’t feel the press of Ryan’s eyes on the back of his head as they walk out of PE.

When Spencer was twelve, he peeked in Ryan’s notebook.

Years later, he still considers it one of his biggest mistakes. It happened on one of the rare occasion that they were hanging out at Ryan’s house, his dad on the right side of buzzed to be funny instead of sad or mean. They were in the living room playing around with a guitar and some drum sticks when Ryan’s dad had hollered for him. Ryan had gotten up, set his guitar and notebook carefully on the couch, and left.

Spencer’s eyes had fallen on the notebook. Even then, it was an object as mysterious and alluring as a dragon’s hoard. Ryan had said he was writing lyrics. Poems, actually. But he hadn’t shared anything with Spencer, no matter how much Spencer had needled him.

So Spencer peeked.

Ryan didn’t talk to him for two full weeks afterwards. It was an ugly, ugly fight. Ryan didn’t come to his house or speak to him at school or even pick up his phone in all that time, except to tell Spencer to screw off. Even after Spencer came up with the perfect apology, Ryan _still_ took his notebook with him each time he left a room, burned and scarred from Spencer’s invasion after all this time.

Until now, two weeks was the longest time Spencer and Ryan had ever gone without talking to each other. Spencer thought he _knew_ what it felt like to fight, really fight, with his best friend.

This fight is different.

When they were twelve the path to reconciliation had been clear. Spencer had screwed up, owned up, and apologized. This isn’t like that. Spencer _knows_ he’s in the right. He knows that by Ryan is doing something wrong. He’s going to _hurt_ Brendon and he doesn’t seem to care.

Spencer just has _no idea_ how to fix it.

They are sitting in the nurse’s office waiting for an ice pack. Spencer’s feet dangle off of the bed. Jon sits cross-legged on a plastic chair.

Since Ryan walked out of his life, Jon has somehow become the person Spencer sees most, besides his family. This is sad, because they only share two classes together (PE and history). It makes Spencer realizes just exactly how small of a bubble he and Ryan have been living in.

Maybe Ryan wasn’t the only one bad at making new friends.

Luckily, Jon is easy. Easy smiles, easy laughter, an easy way of talking that doesn’t demand Spencer do any deep reading between the lines. It would all be really simple, if Jon wasn’t also the _worst_ about asking questions.

“So,” Jon drawls, tapping his fingers against the soles of his shoes. “You want to talk about it?”

“No,” says Spencer, shortly.

“It’s been like two weeks, dude. Maybe you should reconsider that position.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Jon studies him dubiously. His eyes are warm and open, brass buttons on a winter coat cozy. “Okay,” Jon says. “I don’t believe you, but okay. I can tell there’s some ugly stuff happening with you and Ryan right now. I don’t get it, but I get it, you know? And I like you. You seem cool. So _if_ you wanted to talk about it—”

“I don’t,” cuts in Spencer, crossing his arms.

“— _If_ you did. I’m just saying, you can talk to me.”

He makes it sound that easy. Spencer shoves aside the fact that his face is burning and shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

Jon just nods. “Okay.”

Spencer holds his breath. He’s waiting for the inevitable push—the flash of impatience, the rolling eyes, the flattened mouth—but none of it comes. Jon just waits silently until the nurse comes and goes with an ice pack before turning to Spencer and saying:

“Want to go get high instead?”

They don’t ditch school. Spencer expects it, but Jon smiles his easy smile, puts his number into Spencer’s phone, and tells him to text him after class to meet up.

Spencer almost doesn’t text. He opens up his messages and sees his recent conversations with his mom and sisters and dad and _doesn’t_ see Ryan’s name right up at the top, like normal. He has to actually scroll down to find their last exchange and a sour knot tightens up right in the pit of his stomach.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard.

~~_hey_ ~~

~~_im going to jons want to come?_ ~~

~~_we should talk_ ~~

~~_we need to talk_ ~~

~~_i told you i didn’t want to fight are you happy now?_ ~~

~~_your being a fucking dick_ ~~

He deletes everything. Opens a new message and texts Jon.

Jon comes shuffling around the school building three minutes later. He looks even more grungy out of his gym clothes, a ratty t-shirt on over faded jeans and the ugliest pair of sandals flip-flopping on his feet.

But he grins at Spencer when he sees him and Spencer, tucking his phone away, attempts a smile back.

~~_do you remember that time when we were ten and we swore we’d never be like your dad?_ ~~

Spencer rolls the lit joint between his fingers and thinks not of finding George Ross passed out on the couch or his bed or the bathtub. He doesn’t think of Ryan’s face and the careful, still way he learned to hold it. He doesn’t think about anything except the fact that he’d rather forget it all.

Jon is sprawled out on a pool chair next to him, lounging. They’re in his backyard. He’s kicked off his shoes and seems boneless, except that his head is up and he’s watching Spencer.

“No pressure, Spencer,” says Jon, as Spencer just sits there. “You don’t have to smoke it, man.”

Spencer feels like a tool. He feels like a tool and a prude but he can’t seem to bring the lit joint to his mouth and pull.

“It’s just. I have a—a thing. With, uh…with Ryan…”

He winces. He looks at Jon, but Jon just rolls his shoulders.

“Want a Dr. Pepper instead?”

Spencer gratefully nods, setting the joint on the table between them. Jon’s lips quirk as he picks it up, slipping it inside his own lips, before he stands.

“Be right back,” he announces, “and hey.” Spencer startles when Jon’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say his name in like a week. That’s progress.”

They go swimming in the pool. Well, Jon sort of floats around for a while as Spencer sits on the edge and dips his legs in. They tell funny stories about their pets and families. Jon is apparently a cat person. He’s from Chicago. He laughs at Spencer’s firm _opinions_ on music and calls him a snob.

It’s a bit silly that hanging with Jon feels a bit like cheating on Ryan. Spencer tries to ignore the thought the best that he can, but it keeps creeping up. He finds himself palming his phone more and more, composing messages in his head. He doesn’t let himself touch the keyboard. Everything in his head sounds like crap.

At one point, Jon’s phone explodes into a series of buzzes while he’s still in the pool. Spencer leans over and picks it up off Jon’s chair, reading the screen.

“Who is it?”

Spencer jumps. He didn’t hear Jon move in the water. Jon swims up and props his tanned arms on the pool ledge, spreading a puddle on the concrete that races to soak Spencer’s rolled up jeans.

“Pete.”

Jon groans. “Great. Let me guess. He’s freaking out.”

“You want me to read it?” Spencer asks. “There’s, like, a lot.”

And more coming. The phone continues to vibrate intermittently in his hands. Spencer only gets snatches of each message on Jon’s lock screen before a new one takes it place. There are a lot of exclamation marks.

“Later.” Jon shakes his head. Tiny droplets land on Spencer’s forearm. His hair makes him look like a shaggy dog. “He’s just freaking out because of the dance next week. He’s been trying for literal _years_ to ask this one kid out and always manages to fuck it up. Or chicken out. Or do it and then chicken out, which is just another way of fucking up. It’s sort of a thing with him.”

That’s news. Pete is one of the most gregarious, popular people he knows. “There’s a dance next week?” he asks. “For what?”

“Who knows. Spring something or whatever. Pete’ll take any excuse to work himself up. I am _not_ looking forward seeing him deal with prom.”

Honestly, Spencer is kind of curious to see it. A _nervous_ Pete? Really?

“Are you going to the dance?” Spencer asks.

Jon glances up at him. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he admits. His eyebrows slowly rise. “Why are you—”

“No!” Spencer doesn’t know why it comes out so loudly. Hating himself a little bit, he continues quickly. “No. No, dances aren’t really my thing. Ryan and I went to couple, you know, back in middle school. It was a total horror show. I definitely don’t dance. Lack of rhythm. Or well, no. I drum. I’m good with that. But dancing not so much. Coordination is what I meant. What I’m, uh, lacking.”

He’s rambling. Dear god is he rambling. Spencer shuts his jaw with a click. See, _this_ is why he doesn’t make new friends.

Jon doesn’t laugh at him at least. He does frown lightly, not in an angry way but like he’s confused. “You and Ryan have _never_ been to a high school dance?”

“Uh, yeah,” Spencer admits. It’s salt into the wound. He looks at Jon’s deepening frown and frowns too. “Why?”

“That’s…not great. Could you pass me my phone, please?”

Jarred by the sudden flip in tone, Spencer nods. He gingerly passes the phone over. Jon shakes his mostly-dried hands off and takes it, thumbing in his passcode.

“What’s up?”

Jon frowns even deeper as he types out a message. Spencer leans down over him.

“Jon?”

The message is sent. Jon looks up at Spencer, then down at his phone, and sighs.

“Okay. Don’t freak out. It’s about Brendon and Ryan.”

Spencer’s body stiffens. His fingers curl around the edge of the pool. Jon watches him with a pulled expression. Spencer doesn’t like the careful way he’s looking at him. He’s used to being the solid one, the rock, not an explosion waiting to happen.

“Okay,” Spencer says, very calmly.

Jon’s eyes study him warily. The reflection of the pool water bounces in his iris, turning the brass to worried gold.

“Brendon asked Ryan to the dance today. Ryan said yes.”

To RYAN:

_what the fuck is wrong with you?_

[Sent]


	4. Chapter 4

To RYAN:

_what the fuck is wrong with you?_

_youre going to the dance with him? seriously?_

_i fucking told you this was a bad idea_

_you need to stop it_

_now ryan_

[Sent 11:47pm]

To SPENCER:

_I thought you weren’t talking to me._

[Received 2:13am]

To RYAN:

_don’t be stupid_

[Sent 2:14am]

Spencer’s heart is hammering even as he presses the send button.

His eyes burn staring at the light of his phone. He waits for Ryan’s response. He isn’t surprised when the minutes pass and he doesn’t get one.

He turns over onto his stomach. It’s too hot in his room. He kicks off his blankets, wiping at his forehead. He’s always too fucking hot.

At least he knows Ryan is as awake and as miserable as him. A few streets away Ryan is probably laying in his own bed too, glaring up at his ceiling. Maybe he’s tossed his phone away. Maybe he’s scribbling in his notebook. Maybe he’s running their last real conversation over in his head, the way Spencer has been, thinking about what went wrong.

It’s the closest Spencer’s felt to his best friend in weeks.

He gets up and opens his window, letting in a desert breeze. He usually sleeps with it closed. Ryan’s climbed through it too many times not to feel a little paranoid about it.

He sits on the windowsill with his phone in hand and stares out at the lamplit cul-de-sac. Ryan isn’t coming, he knows, but he looks anyway.

Ryan doesn’t text him back. He doesn’t look at him in class either. Spencer knows Ryan knows he’s watching though. That’s enough, for now.

Going to school without Ryan at his side is weird. They have three classes together and sitting next to him without talking to him is painful. Ryan and Brendon eat lunch together now, which leaves Spencer to pick up his tray and find a spot at the end of a table to eat by himself.

Or, that was his routine anyway.

“You look like a giant turd,” announces Pete Wentz, plopping down across the table and spilling chocolate milk all across his tray.

“He means you look like shit,” says Jon, sliding into the seat next to Spencer.“He’s kind of right. You okay?”

Spencer looks between the two of them, not getting it. “What do you want? Where’s Tyler?”

“Club meeting,” says Jon. He kicks off his shoes and tucks his legs up under himself. “He doesn’t look it, but he’s sort of stupidly involved in school stuff. He’s almost as bad as Pete.”

Pete takes this with a minor shrug, bending down to slurp up his milk from the tray.

Spencer snorts. “What, seriously? Him?”

Pete just lifts up his head and grins. “Um, I’m a boss bitch, bro. You don’t even know. I’ve got Student Council, band, school soccer, community league soccer, Model UN—”

“Hold on. Wait.” This is too much for Spencer. “ _You_ are in Model UN.”

Pete’s cheeks darken a little. “Well, I was…”

“He got kicked out for inciting nuclear war with Patrick three times in one week.” Jon grins. “Patrick punched a hole in the wall he was so pissed. Side note, now neither of them are in Model UN. He _really_ hates Pete for that one.”

“It was a joke,” says Pete, hunching.

“Wait. Sorry,” cuts in Spencer. “Who’s Patrick?”

Which is how Spencer gets the rundown of the redhead in Pete’s band class who apparently sings like an angel and has a demon’s temper, and who’s been turning down Pete’s (terrible) flirting since freshman year. This brings up the dance and Pete’s proposal problems and brings Spencer’s mood crashing right back down to the floor.

“I never though Brendon would be the type that would ditch us for a S.O.” says Pete, stealing a fry from Jon’s tray. “I guess I can’t blame the guy. If I my parents were as bad as his I’d fucking shoot myself. No wonder he’s fucking giddy Ross wants to hold his hand.”

“Pete,” Jon warns.

“What? It’s a joke.”

“It’s not really funny.”

Spencer is thinking of the way Brendon smiles with his whole body. He’d noticed, of course, that Brendon hadn’t been around since he started dating Ryan, but Spencer had been so fixed on the Ryan part of that equation he hadn’t really thought about what Brendon was doing. He hadn’t thought Brendon had ditched his friends the same way Ryan had ditched him.

“What do you mean,” he speaks up, “about Brendon?

Jon’s eyes slide to him. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No.” Spencer remains firm. “It’s fine. What do you mean?”

Pete shrugs. “Brendon’s from one of those Mormon families, you know?” That’s not exactly unusual around here, but Spencer nods, stomach tightening. “They’re _really_ conservative. Like, he used to have to get up at five just to attend this extra church group before school. I don’t think he was even allowed to go to school dances until last year, when he turned sixteen. He’s _definitely_ not allowed to date.”

“He’s in the closet,” Jon clarifies, looking directly at Spencer. “He’s afraid of his parents finding out. For good reason, maybe.”

Pete nods, stirring a fry into some ketchup. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. I’m still surprised he said yes to Ross in the first place. He must seriously have the hots for little angsty types.”

Spencer thinks about up chucking his lunch all over the table. He doesn’t, but it is close. He feels something warm on his wrist and looks up to see Jon’s hand touching him.

“You okay?” Jon asks.

Spencer nods woodenly. “Yeah, I—” He clears his throat. “I didn’t know all that. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“It’s complicated,” Jon agrees. “Brendon’s been pushing back against his parents. Asking to not go to church, or at least extended services. Talking about going to college right after high school instead of on a mission. Ryan isn’t his first rebellion exactly, but you get how we weren’t expecting it.”

“Yeah, no. No. I, uh—I wasn’t expecting it either,” Spencer admits.

Jon’s look is compassionate. “I know,” he says. “It’s messed up.”

“Yeah.”

Jon’s hand stays for a moment on Spencer’s arm, a reassuring warm weight, before he tucks it back in and turns the conversation back to Pete.

Spencer drags in a labored breath and lets it go slowly. Things are way more complicated than he thought. It was bad enough for Ryan to dupe some random guy into being his boyfriend without meaning it. That was just mean, leading someone on when he wasn’t being genuine. It crosses an entirely different line to manipulate someone in Brendon’s situation.

Spencer is torn. Ryan isn’t a bad person. In fact, usually Ryan is Spencer’s _favorite_ person. But that doesn’t mean Ryan can’t be callous and cold, unkind sometimes even on purpose.

Would he care if he knew? Ryan and Brendon have been ‘dating’ for over two weeks. What if Ryan already knew and still said yes to the dance? What if he just didn’t care?

Spencer looks down at his lunch tray, stomach churning.

Could Spencer still be friends with Ryan after that?

To RYAN:

_we need to talk_

[Sent 12:36pm]

Spencer gives Ryan until the weekend.

He goes home directly after school each day and sits in his room waiting for Ryan to show. He knows Ryan has seen his message. He sits at his drum kit beating out rhythms and waits.

His phone buzzes consistently during this time, but it’s usually just Jon. Jon who’s been texting him funky memes about aliens ever since Spencer mentioned he didn’t believe in them and sending him increasingly terrible playlists for Spencer to pick apart. Pete also texts him. Or rather, Jon adds him to the group chat with him, Tyler, and Brendon and he is suddenly privy to a first-row seat of Pete’s late night meltdowns (i.e. brainstorming sessions) about Patrick. Spencer doesn’t contribute. Neither does Brendon, as far as he can tell.

So, no new messages from Ryan.

On Friday, Spencer follows him home.

Ryan’s house is just a couple of blocks away from Spencer’s. It has more weeds in the front yard than his and a big oil stain in the driveway, but otherwise looks just like any other house in the neighborhood. There’s no car in the driveway when Spencer walks up, so he doesn’t bother being discrete when he bangs on the door.

The door cracks open. Spencer doesn’t bother to study Ryan’s surprised face before he pushes past him.

It’s only on the inside that the differences between their home lives become apparent. Spencer’s house may have shoes and bags strewn about, but it’s always clean and loved under that surface of living. Ryan’s house feels like an ash tray smeared with grease. There’s always a stack of dishes reeking in the sink or growing crusty on a side table, not all of the bottles ever make it to the trash, and stains appear so frequently on the sofa it’s difficult to tell what it’s original color was meant to be. Spencer knows Ryan is embarrassed by his house, so he marches straight for Ryan’s bedroom. Beyond the usual boy mess, there’s a noticeable effort to be clean.

Ryan, not speaking, follows him. He shuts the door.

“We need to talk,” Spencer says. Ryan nods but doesn’t look at him.

Spencer realizes he doesn’t know how to start this conversation. They both just stand there like idiot actors that forgot their lines. Ryan crosses his arms and looks stiffly somewhere over Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer digs his nails into the palm of his hands and doesn’t know whether he wants to hug him or hit him.

Spencer _hates_ that he always has to be the bigger man. Ryan doesn’t leave him any other options though. He sucks in a frustrated breath and lets it out again harshly.

“I don’t want to fight with you. I’m tired of fucking fighting with you. Can we both just agree to end this stupid fight now?”

Ryan looks away from him. “You haven’t even talked to me in three weeks,” he mutters.

“Yeah, well, phones work both ways.”

Ryan hunches. Spencer sighs again.

“Look, you need to break things off with Brendon. It’s not fair to string him along. You know that.”

Ryan remains silent. His jaw is working, but his face is blank. There’s about a million words probably stewing behind his teeth. Spencer waits for them.

“I can’t,” Ryan says finally, lifting his head.

“Yes. You can.”

“He asked me to the dance. I already said yes.”

“I know. I don’t know what you were thinking with that.” Spencer shakes his head. “I told you this was going to hurt him. I fucking _told_ you this was going to happen.”

His voice rings loudly in the room. Spencer knows his anger isn’t helpful. He isn’t surprised when Ryan stiffens.

“I can’t just ditch him before the dance, Spencer. Contrary to what you think about me, I’m not actually that mean.”

Spencer throws his hands up. “Stop making excuses.”

“I’m not!” The stiffness on Ryan’s face breaks and yeah, there’s the face Ryan makes when he’s worked up past the point of reason. He snarls, “He likes me, Spencer. I know that might be hard for you to believe, but someone other than you actually likes me.”

Spencer is so sick of this. He rolls his eyes and sneers. Ryan’s not the fucking victim here. He doesn’t get to try to guilt Spencer.

“Yeah, and you’re using him!” Spencer yells back. “You knew you were going to hurt him when you started this. Don’t pretend like you didn’t. Remember how much you cared then? Remember how I told you you were fucking around with his feelings? Don’t act like this is a big surprise. You knew this was coming from the start and you didn’t give a fuck about him then.”

Ryan physically flinches. Spencer’s voice rings in the air between them sucking up all the oxygen. They’re both red in the face. Spencer’s neck feels hot and stiff.

Spencer takes a deep breath. “You need to break up with him.”

Ryan looks at the floor.

“I’m serious, Ryan. Do you know about his parents?”

“What?”

“Has he told you about his parents?” Spencer repeats, steadily.

After a long pause, Ryan nods. Spencer wants to throw something.

“Ryan!”

“It’s his decision. I’m not making him do anything,” Ryan says quickly. Too quickly. Spencer can tell these are the words Ryan’s been mulling around in his head, no doubt just for the moment. “I didn’t ask for him to ask me to the dance. He could have said fucking no to wanting to date me. You’re making it seem like this was all me, but he wanted it. It’s not my fault he’s got a fucked up family.”

“Oh yeah?” sneers Spencer. “Well your fucked up family doesn’t give you an excuse to fuck him over.”

He regrets the words the second they leave his mouth.

Ryan’s face goes red. His expression breaks down, flattens, until every inch of Ryan is locked up and shut down. He doesn’t have any trouble looking at Spencer now, but his gaze is blank. Spencer is on the other side of the wall now, next to Ryan’s dad and his shitty mom and all the people Ryan knows can hurt him.

“You should leave,” Ryan says.

“Ryan, come on. I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“My dad will be home soon. I know you would rather not have to deal with my fucked up family.”

“You can’t just shut down an entire conversation whenever you want. That’s not fair. That’s not how relationships work.”

Ryan stares at him blankly. “I wouldn’t know. Apparently all of my relationships are awful and I’m a piece of shit. Maybe I’m not built for them.”

“That’s not what I meant. You know I don’t think that.”

“Please leave now.”

Spencer leaves. Later, he will justify it as giving Ryan time to cool off, but in the moment he just knows that he’s fucked up and pissed off and ashamed.

He texts Ryan later that night. It’s an apology. He curls around his phone and waits for the buzz, but it never comes. His message is left unread.


	5. Chapter 5

The dance looms like an asteroid above the earth.

Spencer squanders the precious days of his weekend waiting on Ryan’s text. Nothing comes.

On Monday, he waits by Ryan’s locker to talk. Ryan never shows. Brendon looks bereft that day in PE, walking over to the basketball court with a guilty smile.

“Ryan’s sick,” he says and that’s that. Tyler passes him the ball. Jon just nods.

Spencer snorts, however, and Brendon’s eyes flicker briefly to him. They don’t say anything. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with Spencer, just keeps sending him these nervous little glances and looking away when Spencer catches him.

Pete accepts Brendon’s sudden return only with a heaping of merciless teasing. Brendon bears it with impressive grace.

“You know, if you and lover boy needs some tips for the big day,” grins Pete, jumping on Brendon and wigging his eyebrows, “I’m kind of a pro at prom night, if you know what I mean.”

Brendon blushes, batting him away.“Oh fuck off, Pete. It’s not even prom.” His face is pink.

Meanwhile, Spencer sways as the joke processes. Brendon and Ryan. Having sex. _Jesus._

Spencer hadn’t even thought of _that._ He wants to not be worried. Ryan wouldn’t really have sex with Brendon. Not when it isn’t real. He’s too much of a romantic for that.

Unless, whispers an insidious voice n the back of Spencer’s head, unless Ryan is pissed and trying to prove a point. You know, the way he threw himself into the deep end of the pool when Spencer’s sister had teased him about not knowing how to swim. Or the way he had thrown himself into this relationship when Spencer had told him it was a bad idea.

Spencer would just like to go one day without feeling the urge to puke.

“Yeah. Fuck off, Pete.”

Jon cuts in with a sudden, unexpected intensity. Spencer’s head jerks up in time to watch to watch Jon’s normally open face close to coldness as he looks at Pete. 

Pete laughs uneasily. “Jeez, it’s just a joke. You guys know I’m only gay above the waist anyway.”

“Does Patrick know that?” Jon snaps.

Pete’s grin falters. Even Tyler stops making baskets long enough to shoot them a sour look. Brendon just looks uncomfortable and slightly lost the way he has all day.

In some sort of strange reversal of their normal positions, Spencer takes Jon’s arm and drags him off the court.

They take a lap around the gym, something Spencer hasn’t been able to do in almost a month. This time it’s Spencer’s turn to ask the question in the face of Jon’s brittle expression.

“You okay?”

Jon scoffs. “I’m fine. Pete’s just been pissing me off lately.”

“You…want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

They walk a few feet in silence. Spencer isn’t used to Jon being short with him. He wipes his hands on his shorts, finding them sweaty. Jon sighs loudly.

“Okay. That was hypocritical.” He runs a hand across his beard. When he turns to Spencer, the smile he puts on his face isn’t exactly easy, but it’s there. “Thank you. I really am fine though. Pete doesn’t have a filter and sometimes he says things that cross a line. He doesn’t mean to. I just needed a break.”

Spencer gets it. He really gets it. They do a few more laps anyway, only breaking off when the bell rings.

Spencer intends to go to Ryan’s house after school—he can’t just play sick and ignore his problems—when he finds Brendon shuffling towards his locker.

In the past three weeks, Brendon has talked to him as much as Ryan has. That is, not at all. Spencer isn’t exactly sure what Ryan had said to explain their falling out but whatever it was seems to make Brendon terrified to meet Spencer’s eyes.

“Hey, um. Spencer?”

The hallways are clearing out quickly around them, but even so it’s hard to hear when Brendon talks to quietly. Spencer puts his books inside and shuts his locker, turning to face him.

It is…painful to look at Brendon. Painful in the way it makes Spencer feel like the scummiest person to have ever lived. He smoothes over his expression with a smile.

“Hey, Brendon. What’s up?”

“Oh. Um. I just wanted to apologize.”

This is so far out of left field Spencer just assumes he heard wrong. “What?”

Brendon’s fingers worry the hem of his shirt. He looks down, seems to steel himself, and meets Spencer’s bewildered gaze. There’s a determined tilt to his jaw.

“I’m sorry for coming between you and Ryan. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t.”

The words fly out of Spencer’s mouth. Brendon’s mouth clicks shut, by Spencer time to think. What he just said isn’t strictly _true_ , but it’s also more true that not that none of what has happened is Brendon’s fault.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Brendon,” Spencer says. “Really. This is super not on you.”

Brendon’s mouth pulls down unhappily. “You don’t have to say that,” he says. “I know you and Ryan have been fighting. It’s kind of obvious, dude. So I’m sorry. I know you aren’t too psyched about me and Ryan dating. I know I just sort of intruded, so I’m sorry if I—”

“It’s not your fault.”

Spencer can’t believe he’s actually having to say this. That guilty, slimy feeling expands in his gut.

Brendon shakes his head, still frowning. “Ryan told me you guys were fighting about me. I know you don’t approve. I—It’s _okay_ if you don’t, like, _like_ me or whatever I just—”

“It is _not_ your fault.” Spencer repeats this firmly. Brendon twitches back, eyes widening. Okay, maybe that was a little too loud. Spencer doesn’t like to yell. It comes too easily to him. He takes a second, breathing deeply through his nose.

“I mean it,” he says when he’s collected himself. “ _None_ of this is your fault. You’re right that I don’t like that you and Ryan are dating, but it that’s’s not because of you. _You_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh.”

Brendon’s lost look as only increased. He’s blinking a _lot_ and Spencer is doing is damnedest not to notice the suspicious shine in his eyes.

Spencer gives Brendon a moment to process all this, taking the time to study him. There’s new dark circles under Brendon’s eyes that Spencer doesn’t remember seeing a month ago. He wonders just how this relationship has been for him. How can Ryan not see it? Brendon is worn down and tired and looks like he might just cry in the middle of the hallway from Spencer’s firm denial.

“Listen, Brendon.” Spencer waits until Brendon looks up at him. “I’m assuming you’re checking in on Ryan tonight, right?”

Brendon nods. Spencer waits patiently. Brendon eventually coughs, pink-faced, and clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I was gonna—I was going to see if he wanted to meet me at this park by his house. My place is…not great right now and he, uh, doesn’t like spending time at his so…”

“Yeah,” sighs Spencer. God this is a mess. “Okay, listen. When you see Ryan tonight just ask him about it, okay? Ask him why me and him are fighting. I promise, it’s not really about you.”

Brendon’s silent for a moment. His eyes rove over Spencer’s face, curiously bright. His lips quirk up. “Not really about me meaning it’s kind of about me.”

Spencer sighs. He’s not getting through to him. Brendon seems determined to take all this blame onto himself, misplaced as it is.

“Not in the way you think,” he says. “Just ask him. I know he’s stubborn, but he owes you the truth.”

Brendon stares at him, head tilted. Some of the sadness seems to have receded. His eyes are less shiny. Still, he resembles more than a little a a stray dog wary of being kicked. Spencer waits to see him smile, but Brendon doesn’t. He just bobs his head as he leaves and mumbles goodbye. Spencer watches him as he goes and sighs again, feeling his phone like a lead weight in his pocket.

One more day. He can give Ryan one more day. Let him make the right decision to come clean on his own.

The decision takes something off his shoulders. One more day.

He flips out his phone and dials Jon’s number instead.

“Hey. Got room by the pool for two?”

Ryan storms back to school on Tuesday looking irate and windswept and not the least bit sick.

He glares at Spencer in their first class together, lips pressed into a thin white line. He picks up his books and moves all the way to the front where the only open seats are. Heads turn. Ryan looks firmly at the whiteboard and doesn’t turn back once.

This sets the tone for the rest of the day.

Wednesday begins the same way. Spencer isn’t really shocked by it. What does make him pissed is the way Brendon scurries away at the sight of him. If he talked to Ryan it doesn’t fucking look like it. He catches sight of them holding hands in the hallways and Spencer just knows that Ryan is still lying his tongue off. The dance is _this_ Friday and Ryan is still fucking around.

He’d said one more day. He’d meant it.

After school, Spencer storms over to Ryan’s house and bangs on the door so long and so hard he doesn’t even notice the truck that rolls into the driveway.

George Ross stares at him hard when he gets out, sober in the way he only is just after work.

“Spencer,” he calls, halting Spencer’s fist mid-knock. “I haven’t seen you around here in a second.”

His voice is scratched from years of smoking. It cracks like potholes on a road when he speaks. Still, there’s something very Ryan about it; a sort of deadpan delivery that makes Spencer want to back up and apologize.

Spencer sometimes hate Ryan’s dad. Spencer hates him because the man deserves it for all he’s put Ryan through and because Ryan loves him too much to mean it when he says he’s done with all his dad’s shit. But that’s only sometimes. Other times, like now, Spencer’s just reminded of the man that took them fishing and rented them scary movies and pushed his parents into getting him his first drum kit when they worried it would be too loud.

He never knows what to say to George Ross. Oh, he says plenty _about_ the man when he’s angry, but he can’t remember the last time Ryan let them be alone together. They were eight maybe, he thinks.

“Sorry,” Spencer says, stepping quickly away from the door. “I was just looking for Ryan.”

George slams the door to his truck and walks over.

“I haven’t known you boys to ever miss each other,” George says, slamming the door to his truck and walking over. “Shouldn’t you know where he is?”

Spencer refrains from stepping back, far back, and hides his clenched hands behind his back. Shouldn’t Spencer know? Shouldn’t Ryan’s _father_?

“Uh, yeah,” Spencer says, swallowing all that. “We had plans, but, uh, my phone died. I thought maybe he came here.”

“Huh,” George grunts. “Well, tell Ryan I want him home when you see him. You know I don’t mind you two hanging out, but he can’t be going over to your house every day. Your mom doesn’t need him underfoot all the time.”

Actually, Spencer is pretty sure his mom would adopt Ryan as one of her own if given even the slightest chance. He also doesn’t mention that Ryan hasn’t been to his house in almost a month.

He nods his head, smiles brittlely, and hurries down the street to get away just as fast as he can.

Jesus, what a disaster.

To SPENCER:

_What did you say to my dad?_

[Received 5:46pm]

To RYAN:

_nothing_

_what happened?_

[Sent 5:48pm]

To RYAN:

_im sorry about what i said yesterday. i didn’t mean it_

_come over?_

_are you okay?_

[Sent 6:01pm]

To RYAN:

_its okay if youre still mad but im coming over if you dont text me back_

_seriously are you okay?_

[Send 6:15pm]

To SPENCER:

_I’m fine. Don’t come here again. I don’t want to talk to you._

[Received 6:19pm]

To RYAN:

_sorry i went to your house wo asking_

_your my best friend ryan_

_i just want to talk to you_

[Sent 6:20pm]

To SPENCER:

_Just leave me alone. You don’t know everything._

[Received 6:22pm]

To RYAN:

_you cant just ignore this and hope it goes away_

[Sent 6:23pm]

Yet, by the way Spencer’s phone remains silent all night that’s exactly what Ryan does.


	6. Chapter 6

“He’s going to say no.”

“Of course he is. This is a terrible plan.”

“I’m overthinking it, right? This is perfect.”

“This is the opposite of perfect, Pete. Why the hell did you draw sperm all over the sign?”

“What? No! Those are music notes.”

“They have squiggly tails.”

“It was shaky on the bus! Oh my god, Tyler! Now I can’t unsee it. Fuck! I can’t give Patrick a _sperm_ sign!”

“Figure it out, man. My arms are getting tired.”

“It’s just a goddamn cake, Jon! Just fucking hold it.”

“It’s huge!”

“That’s what she said.”

“Really, Tyler?”

“Uh, guys? He’s coming.”

“Oh god! Jesus Christ! Just—fuck it, just run!”

Pete takes off at a dead sprint down the hallway. Pete is the only person not carrying one of his miserable dance proposal props. Tyler rolls his eyes, folding up the poster in his arms into neat squares and following sedately the direction Pete fled. Jon shifts the massive cake in his arms and flip-flops quickly after them.

Spencer, the look out, makes the rookie move of looking back down the hallway. His eyes make contact with the red head down the hall. His feet don’t move. Spencer remains behind as the idiot still holding the balloons.

Patrick—red hair, trucker hat, terrible shoes—stops dead in his tracks at the sight of him. His eyes travel slowly up to the veritable cloud of balloons clutched in Spencer’s fist. The expression on his face is horrified.

It is not enough of a punishment to be the idiot holding the balloons. Spencer has to do it in the middle of a crowded hallway on the day before a school dance. A guy behind him giggles.

“Uh,” says Spencer. He cannot do this. He physically cannot do this. He cannot stand this many people staring at him. It was bad enough when the rest of the guys were with him. Now it’s just _him_ and people are beginning to _talk._ “These are for you.”

Spencer shoves the balloons forward. Patrick does not take them.

“From Pete,” Spencer adds helplessly.

Patrick reaches up. Spencer thinks— _thank god!_ —and relaxes. His hand lets go. Patrick rubs his hand over his face and _does not take the balloons._

The balloons spring apart. More than a dozen suddenly rush for the ceiling. The first wave pops loudly on impact. A girl screams. Down the hall, a door flings open and a teacher rushes out yelling. Other kids bat at the balloons, scrambling to catch the strings or hit them at their friends. More balloons explode. More screaming.

The second wave of surviving balloons bob merrily down the hallway.

Patrick stares at Spencer.

Patrick turns a terrible, terrible red.

“I am so sorry,” says Spencer. “I am so, so sorry.”

Patrick looks three seconds away from punching him

“Please.” He flaps a hoodie covered hand. “Please, just go.”

Spencer flees.

He rounds the corner at the end of the hall just as three sets of hands reach out to catch him. Pete, Jon, and Tyler have been watching just around the corner. Even Tyler looks wild eyed as Spencer nearly charges right through them.

Pete clutches him by the shoulders. There are balloons circling above their heads. Their plastic bodies shine like the eyes of vultures. Spencer is taller than Pete. That doesn’t seem to matter. Pete shakes him—or is shaking _on_ him. Either way, neither of them are particularly stable.

“What the fuck, Spencer? What the actual fuck? What did you just do?”

“Uh.” Someone smacks a balloon against a locker. Its bloated body explodes in a shower of red plastic. Spencer opens his mouth. What comes out is, “At least he knows you want to go to the dance now?”

“Oh my god!”

“You, um, might want to give him a minute though.”

Back in the direction he just ran from, another balloon bursts. Students cheer. The teacher yells. Spencer winces.

“Maybe give him more like an hour,” he amends.

Pete releases him. He looks—he looks not a lot like the Pete Spencer knows. He looks spooked. Smile depleted, body so tense he seems to tremble, there’s nothing of the grinning jokester Spencer knows.

Jon takes Pete by the arm, trying to work his zen magic. “Come on, man. We can regroup. Go back to the drawing board.”

Tyler nods. “This was a terrible plan anyway. You should have just texted him.” In his own blunt way, it’s supportive.

Pete shakes Jon off. He says nothing to Tyler. His eyes are fixed on some distant point, unseeing. Then something seems to seize him. Pete’s eyes lock on the hallway they just escaped from. His mouth screws down.

“Fuck it.”

He snatches a balloon from over his head and marches back down the hall.

Jon, Tyler, and Spencer watch on. Tyler whistles.

“That’s going to be a disaster,” he declares. “At least it was funny. Nice job, Spencer.”

For the first time since they’ve met, Tyler smiles at Spencer. Spencer is not sure what exactly his face does, but he is pretty sure it’s not a smile back.

Lunchtime. Thursday.

Pete does not appear. Tyler has a meeting. Spencer hasn’t even spotted Ryan and Brendon all day. The commotion of the morning has done very little to distract Spencer from the fact that there are less than 48 hours before the dance.

Jon drops down across from him. In his arms is Pete’s giant cake. He pops off the plastic lid. He looks around before smiling at Spencer.

“Where is everybody?”

Spencer has been wondering the same thing. “Isn’t Pete going to be mad if you eat that?”

“I think Pete’s got more important things to worry about. Have a spork.”

He flicks a utensil at Spencer. With a second spork, he digs directly into a frosted corner. The cake is truly hideous, a big purple thing with red swirly letters that spell out _He Said Yes!_ Spencer is embarrassed to even been sitting at the same table as it. Still, a cake is a cake.

“Pete does know this is a dance, not a marriage proposal, right?” Spencer asks, jamming his spork into an opposite corner.

“He’s just a big gesture kind of guy,” Jon shrugs.

“If someone ever pulled that one me I think I’d punch them.” Spencer shudders at the very thought. “How’s Patrick?”

“No news is good news, I think.” Despite all the drama, Jon seems content. His eyes are warm honey when he leans across the table, smiling at Spencer. “Hey, listen. About the dance. I was thinking—”

Spencer’s phone vibrates. “Hold on one second.”

He fishes his phone out quickly. It could be Ryan. It hasn’t been yet, but it could be.

But no. When he opens his notifications it’s just a text from his mom reminding him to take out the trash when he gets home. Spencer slumps. He doesn’t bother to text her back before putting his phone away.

“Sorry,” Spencer says, turning back to Jon.

“Something important?” he asks.

Spencer shakes his head. “Just my mom. I thought it was—well, it doesn’t matter. What were you saying?”

Jon sits back. He shoots Spencer a knowing look as his scruffy eyebrows push together. Jon always seems to hear what Spencer would rather have be left unsaid. It’d be unnerving on anyone less mild than Jon.

“I didn’t realize you were still texting him.” There’s not mistaking who he’s referring to. Jon scrapes his spork through a red letter, frowning slightly. “I thought you two weren’t talking.”

Spencer sets down his spork. The sugar is suddenly sickeningly sweet on his tongue. “I’m waiting for him to text me back,” he admits. “I went over to his house yesterday. It didn’t go well.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “Aren’t you two fighting? What happened?”

Spencer wilts. He feels ashamed and angry just thinking about it. “He told me not to come back. I don’t know. It was bad.”

Jon puts down his spork. His face is uncommonly solemn. Knees knock against Spencer’s under the table as Jon leans forward again. “You’ve sounded pretty furious with him, Spencer. Why are you feeling bad now?”

“I _am_ furious. Or, I don’t know—I _was._ ” Spencer doesn’t like this conversation. Every word seems to tighten the knot in his stomach. “I don’t know. It’s—I know this sounds like a cop out, but it’s complicated. I said some stuff too.”

The furrow grows on Jon’s forehead. He tilts his head before saying slowly, “I know I don’t know the full story, but I got the impression he did something pretty shitty.”

“He did!” Spencer runs a hand through his hair. Just thinking about Ryan’s goddamn _plan_ fills him with an angry buzz.

Jon catches his hand on its way back down. He’s good at that—those casual touches Spencer realizes he’s been missing. It’s just natural when Jon does it.

“It’s okay to be mad,” Jon says.

Spencer snorts. “Oh trust me. I have no trouble getting angry.”

Jon’s lips quirk up. “I know,” he says, squeezing Spencer’s hand again. “Crazy rage waves, remember? I just mean, this thing with Ryan seems to make you mad a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Are you sure he’s worth it?”

“Yes.”

Spencer’s mouth moves before his brain does. It doesn’t matter. Spencer _knows_ that’s the right answer. That tight thing in his gut even loosens when he realizes how fast and natural that answer came.

It’s still unpleasant to watch Jon’s smile drop off. Beyond looking startled, there’s something in his eyes that looks almost hurt. Spencer gets it. From Jon’s perspective he’s basically seen nothing but Spencer fight with Ryan. It’s not exactly a stellar first impression. Jon must be feeling at least somewhat annoyed by Spencer’s defensiveness after all that he’s listened to Spencer be angry and complain.

Spencer drags his hand out from under Jon’s and runs it again through his hair again. He tries to find the words to explain.

“He’s still, you know, _Ryan_ ,” Spencer finally says. “We basically grew up together. I can’t even imagine what my life would be like without him. I don’t want to know.”

Jon stares at him for a long time.

“Oh,” he finally says. He shakes his head, pulling his hand back from the table and folding it into his lap. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“I just wish he’d talk to me,” sighs Spencer. “That’s stupid, right? I’m the one mad at him and yet I’m the one chasing him around.”

“I mean, I get it.” Jon’s smile comes back, small and pained. “If he means that much to you, I mean. You should do what feels right to you.”

Spencer smiles back at Jon. He shrugs a bit helplessly. “Unfortunately, he does.”

“Right.” Jon blinks, leaning backwards. He shrugs one shoulder and his eyes drop to the cake between them. Abruptly, he picks up his spork and shoves it into the cake. “Right. Well, there you go, I guess. He’s your boy.”

“Yeah,” Spencer admits. He picks ups his spork, taking a bite. The sugar is sweeter this time around. He digs into the frosting and licks it off. “I’m still just so mad at him. I don’t know what to do. What do you think?”

Across the table, Jon stares down at the cake, stabbing his spork repeatedly into the _Yes_.

“You okay?” Spencer asks. Jon shrugs. Not entirely sure what to do with that, Spencer tries for lighthearted. “It’s good cake.” He goes back for another scoop of frosting.

Jon stares resentfully at the cake. With a sudden jerk, he buries his spork in the center of the cake.

Spencer pulls back, blinking at Jon in alarm. For the very first time, Jon’s zen is gone. His mouth is a thin line beneath his beard. He leans back from the table and the edge of his hand smears red frosting on the plastic top.

Then he takes a deep breath and some of the upset is swallowed down. It’s replaced by a regretful look he sends at Spencer.

“Sorry. Just—sorry.”

“Jon?”

“I should go.”

Jon pushes up from the table. He yanks on his backpack. Head down, shoulder’s hunched, he disappears out the cafeteria doors before Spencer can so much as stand.

There’s something weird going on with Spencer. He’d like to blame the cake, but he trashed it just a few seconds after Jon left. It feels like his veins have been pumped full of fizzy soda. His head buzzes with an unnamed tension that drowns out his final class periods.

The final bell rings. Thursday is officially over. Spencer shoves his books into his bag and hurries from his classroom.

He makes it just halfway to his locker when he collides—literally collides—with Ryan and Brendon.

Ryan, still a twig, goes down. Brendon, slightly more sturdy, manages to save Ryan from hitting the ground by slinging an arm around his shoulders. Spencer stumbles back, already biting out an annoyed curse, when Ryan shrinks under Brendon’s hand and hisses.

Spencer freezes.

Ryan’s eyes lock on his.

Spencer remembers with perfect clarity the first time Ryan’s dad hit him. The way Ryan had begged and pleaded with Spencer not to tell his mom. The grateful way Ryan had nodded when Spencer promised—fucking promised—not to tell his mom so long as Ryan told him when things got bad.

Things didn’t get bad often. Thank god they didn’t. But Spencer was always there when they did.

Not this time.

“Don’t, Spencer.” Ryan is already straightening up, moving out from under Brendon’s arm and putting distance from them both. His jaw is a firm line.

Spencer shakes his head. He steps closer, ignoring the way Brendon frowns and moves forward. “I asked—I fucking _asked_ , Ryan. I asked if you were alright.”

“Hey, man. You need to calm down,” says Brendon, stepping in front of Ryan, palms out. “Stop yelling at him.”

“ _I’m not_ —I’m not yelling!” Spencer hisses, lowering his voice dramatically. He steps to the right, around Brendon, determined to get close to Ryan—to _make sure_ he was alright. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He hits Brendon’s arm. Brendon very firmly pushes him back.

“Dude, just back off. This isn’t cool.”

Spencer scowls at Brendon. “You back off. This isn’t any of your business, Brendon.”

“I’m his _boyfriend.”_

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Barely.”

Hurt crawls across Brendon’s face, followed swiftly by another firm push against Spencer’s chest. He keeps his hands up, looking back at Ryan behind him. Ryan stares at the floor.

“Ryan, come on,” Spencer demands, willing his friend to look up, to do _anything_ but just stand there.

“Just back off, Spencer!” Brendon hisses. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Spencer is so angry he’d like to spit. “Like you’d know! Fuck, you don’t know anything. He’s not your real boyfriend, Brendon! You don’t mean anything to him.”

Brendon shoves. Spencer isn’t expecting it. He takes the hit to his chest without bracing and feels the wind get knocked out of his chest as he stumbles back, ass hitting the floor.

When he looks up, Brendon’s face is stricken, red like he’s taken an actual blow. Behind him, Ryan stares at Spencer wide-eyed, mouth open. He reaches out and—

Ryan takes Brendon’s hand.

He says in a quiet voice, “Let’s just go.”

He turns and he doesn’t look at Spencer at all as he curls his fingers into Brendon’s. Takes him by the hand and gentle tugs him away. Away from Spencer who is sprawled out on the floor. Away from Spencer who is staring at him. Spencer is staring at his best friend. Ryan does not look at him.

Hurt digs into Spencer, goring him from the inside. Spencer scrambles to his feet. His shoes squeal on the tile.

“Hey!”

Ryan and Brendon stop walking. Brendon looks back. Ryan does not.

Spencer is so furious. So stupidly, deliriously enraged. He digs in with the only thing he has left. The one last threat he has over Ryan. The thing that is keeping Brendon there at his side while Spencer is pushed to the floor.

He raises his voice and speaks clearly and concisely, knowing Ryan will know exactly what he means:

“If you don’t tell him, I will.”


	7. Chapter 7

Friday.

It’s Friday and Ryan isn’t talking to him and Brendon glares at him when ever they pass in the hallways and Jon hasn’t answer any of his texts. The dance is _tonight_ and Spencer’s entire life is horrible.

Somehow, the only person that seems happy to see him is Pete.

“Spencey boy!”

Pete’s screech is the only warning Spencer gets before he’s hit by a flying body. Spencer goes slamming into a row of lockers. Pete’s elbows dig into his sides as he flings his arms around Spencer’s neck. He plants a big, sloppy kiss to the side of Spencer’s face.

“Jesus Christ, Pete!”

Pete laughs, even as Spencer shoves him to the floor. He pops back up the next minute, grinning like a crazed man.

“You are my new favorite!” he crows, slinging an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “I am never making fun of your asthmatic ass again.”

Spencer scowls at him, pushing him off _again_. He’s not in the fucking mood for this. “I don’t have asthma.”

“Come on, Spence. Don’t go around telling people that. Then you just suck at sports for no reason.”

Pete’s basically rocking on his heels. His smile has yet to dim below 1000 megawatts. Spencer can only think of one reason why Pete could be so happy, though Spencer can’t quite believe it to be the case.

“Patrick said yes?” he ventures.

Pete punches the air. “Patrick is going to the dance!”

“Wait, really?” Spencer thinks back to Patrick’s terrible red face and the way he’d look seconds away from punching something. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“He’s in the AV club! I can’t believe I fucking forgot he’s in the AV club. He’s going to _DJ!_ ”

Spencer is confused. “So, he didn’t say yes?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Pete shakes his head so rapidly he practically vibrates. “He’s going to be _there_. I’ll pick you up at eight! You better be dressed to because I _will_ make you go in your boxers if you’re late.”

_Oh no, no, no._ Spencer is _not_ going to the dance. He’d rather _burn in hell._ “No way. No way, Pete. I’m serious.”

Pete full-on belly laughs at him. “Don’t be lame! I already told Jon I’m driving.” He bounds down the hall, shouting at Spencer as he goes. “Eight on the dot, Spencer! We have a mission to complete!”

It’s like the dance has infected the whole school.

The gym has been taken over to be decorated, booting their PE class to the field. Even though this means no basketball the class is somehow all the worse for it. Tyler and Pete are both involved in the dance preparations so they’re gone. Brendon and Ryan are taking pains to stay as far away from Spencer as possible. Spencer doesn’t even see Jon until class is almost over and he spots him standing near the back of the football bleachers. He’s so relieved he almost cries.

“Oh, thank god!”

He stumbles forward and throws his arms around Jon. Jon stiffens in his arms. He _reeks_ of pot. Not in a _yeah-this-dude-probably-smokes_ kind of way but in a _the-ashes-are-still-orange-from-his-last-blunt_ fashion.

“Spencer.” Jon’s sounds hazy, like it takes him a moment to find Spencer’s name. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Spencer pulls back. Jon’s eyes are red-rimmed and squinting at him. Spencer can’t read the expression on his face. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?”

Jon’s gaze floats back to the bleachers. He gives a little shrug. “Around, I guess. Hanging with some friends. Getting high.”

“Yeah. I mean, I can see that.” Spencer bites his lip. “Did you get my texts? I’m having the worst day. You have no idea. It’s so good to see you.”

He waits for Jon to smile at him or touch his arm or something. He waits for Jon to ask him about it, but Jon just sort of stands there, looking ready to be anywhere else.

Maybe…maybe Jon thought he couldn’t ask. Maybe Spencer had refused to talk about it too many times.

Spencer steps closer, putting his hand on Jon’s arm. He’s absurdly grateful when Jon glances slowly down at the touch, then turns his wide eyes up at Spencer.

“I, um, I was hoping I could talk to you?”

Jon’s mouth slips open a little, like he forgot how to close it. “Talk?”

Spencer breathes out. Yes. Finally.

He nods his head eagerly. “You’re the only one that knows what’s up with me and Ryan. You’re the best listener I know. I need your advice.”

“Oh.” Jon’s brass-button eyes blink up at him. The brightness there fades into something dull and ruddy. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, you know? Sorry.”

A chill sneaks up Spencer’s outstretched arm as Jon moves away from him, stepping back. Spencer drops his hand, hurt. He doesn’t understand. Isn’t this what Jon has been asking for the whole time?

“I thought you wanted for me to talk,” Spencer says hesitantly. “That’s what you said.”

Jon breathes out sharply. He crosses his arms across his chest. “That’s not fair, Spencer. You know that’s not fair. You can’t ask me to be that person for you. Not right now.”

Spencer’s getting pushed away. _Again._

“I thought we were friends,” he says.

Now Jon isn’t even looking at him. Jon hunches into his jacket. His bangs are too long for Spencer to see his face.

“Yeah, I—Maybe eventually we can be…like that. I just can’t right now. I need a break.”

“From me?” Spencer clarifies. Jon says nothing.

Spencer doesn’t cry easily. He hasn’t cried once since his fight with Ryan began. He didn’t even cry yesterday, watching Ryan flinch away from him, knowing he was hurt _again_. Yet watching Jon walk away from him makes Spencer feel so _alone_ heat prickles up his cheeks. A weight sits heavy on the back of his throat.

He doesn’t release the tears—not here, not now—but he chokes on that weight for the rest of the day, hanging on the precipice.

Almost too suddenly, the school day is over. The last bell jars, but his walk home is worse. There’s no confrontation at his locker, no final showdown between him and Ryan. Spencer doesn’t even know if Ryan stayed for the last part of the day. He hasn’t seen him or Brendon (or Jon or Pete or ever Tyler) in hours.

It’s a very lonely walk. Spencer slams the door as he comes home, but his house is empty and no one hears it.

Usually, Spencer relishes this time before his house fills up to bang on his drums. Today, he aims himself for the kitchen, yanks open the fridge, and doesn’t move from the counter until he hears a key turn in the door and his family troop in. By then, the tub of double mint chip ice cream is almost gone.

His mom does a double take at him sitting on the counter. He can hear his sisters marching on through the halls, chattering, and feels the beginning of shame niggling away at him. Goddamn it he’s a mess.

His mom carefully sets her purse down, looking him up and down in that frank manner Spencer knows he inherited.

“Rough day, Spencer?” she asks.

Spencer shoves his spoon into the carton. Between this and the cake he’ll be even fatter in no time. Perfect.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” His mom takes in the expression on his face and changes the question. “Is it something I should know about as your mother?”

Spencer considers this. Technically, Ryan is not her kid. His bad actions are not her responsibility. He feels shitty even thinking this, knows she would disagree, but Spencer isn’t feeling too charitable right now. Spencer’s bad actions _are_ probably something she’d want to hear, but does she _need_ to?

He shakes his head.

Unfortunately, his mom is not an idiot. “Is this about your fight with Ryan?” she asks. She reads Spencer’s jerk of surprise with a flat look. “Please, Spencer. Ryan hasn’t been around in almost a month. Of course I’ve been worried.”

Spencer slumps on the counter, feeling almost sullen. His mom is good at fixing things. Maybe if she’d just asked Spencer wouldn’t have fucked things up so badly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks.

His mom purses her lips. She crosses the kitchen and pats his leg, leaning her hip against the counter beside him. “You boys are usually so good with each other, I didn’t think I needed to. Was that wrong?”

Spencer bites his lip. “Ryan won’t talk to me,” he admits.

“That does sound like him,” his mom nods. “Have you given him some space? Time can do a lot, Spence.”

“I’ve _tried_ ,” That weight in his throat is back, making it difficult to get his words out. “I gave him space. I went over to his house. I’ve texted and called. He doesn’t _care_ , Mom.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound like the Ryan I know,” his mom says. “That boy has been crazy about you since the day you boys met. You both have.”

Spencer shakes his head. She just doesn’t _get_ it. Tell that to the Spencer that found himself on the floor yesterday while Ryan just stood there, watching. His mom frowns, squeezing his knee.

“He spends all his time with _Brendon_ now. It’s like he doesn’t even want me around anymore, Mom.”

The name tastes bitter on his tongue. Saying it aloud hurts. It doesn’t sound like a lie.

His mom looks surprised. “That boy you went to the movies with?”

Spencer can’t help it. He sneers. “They’re _dating.”_

Spencer’s voice cracks. He jams his mouth closed quickly as he feels his eyes get wet, swiping at them harshly.

His mom sighs, “Oh, Spence.”

She takes the ice cream carton and puts it on the counter. Then she takes his hand and gently tugs him from the counter, wrapping her arms around him. Spencer buries his face in her neck, hating the tears he presses into her blouse, hating that he’s taller than her and feels too big in her arms. A hand rubs circles into his back, long nails familiar and soft on his shoulders.

Eventually, the unwanted tears stop coming and they break apart. His mom keeps her fingers wrapped around his arm, looking up at him with a sympathetic frown.

“Did you know I used to worry about you being friends with Ryan?” she asks. “I used to have to call his father and remind him that Ryan couldn’t be walking over here everyday.”

Spencer mouth opens. He pulls back from her, suddenly remembering what Ryan’s father had said yesterday. “What?”

She nods, contemplative. “You were six and seven, I think. You just brought home this boy one day and it was like you and him were in your own little world. You stopped playing with your sisters. All you would talk about was Ryan this and Ryan that. Sometimes it felt like you were barely a part of the family anymore.”

“You love Ryan,” Spencer says, mouth open. He _knows_ that’s true. Still, relief floods him when his mom nods, firmly.

“Of course, I do. Ryan is family,” she says. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t scary. He was your first real friend, Spencer. I’m your mom and you were my little boy. You think it was easy to watch you want to spend all your time with someone else? But you know, it didn’t take me long to see what you liked about Ryan. And lord knows Ryan needed someone to see what was good in him. You did that, Spencer. You brought that boy into our family and you know? It turns out I wasn’t loosing my son. I was gaining another one.”

Spencer feels tears in his eyes again. God, his mom is just so—he wishes Ryan was here to hear that.

“So why won’t he talk to me?” he finally asks. “I’m _trying_ , Mom. I just keeping fucking things up.”

His mom frowns at his language, but rubs his arm. “Relationships change, Spencer. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You and Ryan have been attached at the hip since you were kids. Maybe you both need room to change. It’s hard, but growing pains always are.”

“I don’t want to lose him,” Spencer says, face wet again.

“Have you told him that?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut. He _has_. He knows he has.

He nods.

His mom squeezes his arm again, smiling at him.

“Try again.”

To RYAN:

. . .

Spencer sits on his bed and stares at his phone. _If you don’t tell him, I will_. That’s the last thing he’d said to Ryan. He’d meant it too.

He doesn’t know how to write this message. He doesn’t know how to say that he wants Ryan back _and_ stay firm to his belief that what Ryan is doing with Brendon is wrong. He wants to ask if Ryan is okay, if his dad was still angry, what he’d told Brendon. None of those are the right questions.

Spencer isn’t even sure if a question is what he’s looking for. He needs to apologize too, but that doesn’t feel right either. Words have never been Spencer’s strong point. He leaves the flowery language for Ryan. He just wants to hug his best friend and feel like Ryan isn’t slipping out of his fingers.

His phone buzzes. He swipes irritably at the group chat, unable to deal with Pete’s drama on top of his own.

Wait… _Pete_.

He opens the group chat, seeing dozens of messages he’s ignored. Pete and Tyler snark at each other in the texts. Pete’s messages are a mess of exclamation points and missing vowels. It ends on a charming note from Pete: _u cnt wear shorts to a dance tyler!! its lazy!!!_

Is Spencer really thinking about doing this?

He breathes out.

Yes. Yes, he is.

To PETE:

_pick me up first. im ready._

[Sent 7:28pm]


	8. Chapter 8

Spencer tugs on his shirt collar, trying to ignore the twin flat stares of Tyler and his date.

Pete’s car is a minivan, probably his mom’s. Tyler and the blue-haired boy he’d introduced as Josh sit in backseat. Josh is wearing grey skinny jeans and a nose ring. Tyler is in basketball shorts. Riding shotgun, Jon has headphones over his ears and doesn’t even look up when Spencer climbs in.

“Sorry, dude,” Pete had chirped when he’d pulled up, “Eight is eight. Now get in. I’m not missing a minute of this thing.”

The drive to the dance is awkward. Tyler and Josh are wrapped up in each other, whispering too low for Spencer to make out any of the things that make Tyler break out in giggles. Pete croaks along to warbled 80s music on the stereo. He drives like he talks, in lurches and stops that sends Spencer clutching at the handle above his head and closing his eyes at intersections.

Somehow, they make it to the school. The school parking lot is crawling with cars. Pete parks them on the curb down the street, shoving them out with the kind of nervous exuberance of a kid at Christmas. Spencer feels more than a little like the Grinch as he tails along after the group.

The movies definitely lied. The gym has not been transformed magically overnight, though Spencer does see a few glittery cardboard stars taped up on the doors as they walk in. Apparently the theme was _Dancing With the Stars_ which…well, it’s a theme Spencer supposes. He doesn’t actually know much about how these things are supposed to work.

The gym still smells and looks and feels like a gym when they walk in, just darker and louder and a heck of a lot sweatier. The bleachers are extended and the concession stand is open, but that’s it. The dance is barely open when they walk in. Pete spots the DJ table on the far end of the gym and makes an immediate beeline through the thin throng of teenagers on the dance floor. Tyler and Josh exchange glances and head off towards the bleachers.

He turns to Jon, but Jon still has on his headphones. Before Spencer can tug on his sleeve to pull his attention, he shoves his hands in his pockets and follows after Pete.

Spencer watches them all go and feels worse than a third wheel. He feels invisible. 

Bass booms in his ears. He shuffles away from the doorway only when people start to bump him for blocking the path. The whole gym is something like a sensory nightmare. Spencer has to squint at his classmates to recognize their faces under the makeup and dancing rainbow lights of the disco ball machine. Mostly he just sees silhouettes blurred in motion

It’s going to be a pain in his ass finding Ryan in this mess.

He wishes he’d just followed Jon. Jon might still be pissed off at Spencer, but he surely knew better than Spencer how to handle this kind of social situation. The last time he was at a school dance, he and Ryan spent the whole time gorging themselves on nachos and wrinkling their nose at the music. 

Which…actually isn’t a bad place to start.

Spencer sets up near the concession booth, loitering with his back on the wall. The lights inside make it easier to see who is who in line, but after about twenty minutes he still doesn’t spot Ryan or Brendon. The dance is only getting more and more crowded the longer he waits. What started as a few brave people dancing has developed into a sway mass of bodies Spencer has no desire to wade through.

He retreats to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and hiding in a stall until he hears the laughter of another group coming through.

Returning to the gym, he skirts around the edges until he slips around the speakers and finds himself behind the DJ booth. Pete is there, bothering that Patrick kid who’s only concession to the dance seems to have been replacing his trucker hat with a fedora.

It takes Spencer a couple tries before either of them notice him over the music. Pete clings to Patrick’s arm. Patrick seems more resigned to this than anything.

“Spencer!” yells Pete. “Hey, there you are! Where’d you go? Patrick, this is Spencer!”

Patrick’s glum face tells Spencer exactly how well he’s remembered. “We’ve met.”

Spencer winces. “Sorry,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Come to collect your friend?” Patrick asks hopefully, glancing at the grip Pete has on his arm.

“Hey! We’re having fun!” Pete insists.

“You’re having fun. I’m trying to work.”

“I’m entertaining you. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Spencer wonders if he’s been forgotten again. He cuts in, “Hey, have either of you seen Ryan or Brendon?”

Pete reluctantly breaks off his bickering. “Not yet. They didn’t want a ride. I’m not sure what their plan was.”

“Oh.” This is disappointing, but not really a surprise. “Will you let me know if you see them?”

“Yeah, sure.” Pete is already turning back to Patrick when he seems to remember something. “Oh, and hey! Patrick’s finally getting control of the booth in fifteen minutes. He’s promised to play _good_ music. Where’s Jon? You should totally dance.”

Spencer hasn’t since Jon since they first got to the dance. He isn’t sure he’s not being avoided.

“I thought Jon was with you,” he says.

Pete cocks his head. “Why would he be with me?” Spencer shrugs. He doesn’t want to lay out all his issues to the one person still talking to him. Pete scoffs. “Well go find him. Patrick’s been letting me know _all_ about his personal playlists. He’s _eclectic_.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Patrick protests, yanking on his arm in Pete’s hold. “That’s not what I said.”

Pete clings on harder. “You like it a little funky, huh, Patty? I can do that. I can totally do that. Though I could show you something dirty if you really—ow!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Really? Your gonna punch me for the nickname and not— _ow, Jesus!”_

“That too. Thanks for the reminder.”

Spencer rolls his eyes. It seems Pete had his hands full. He leaves him to it.

The next half-hour becomes a blur of dancing lights, smiling faces, and sweat. On the other side of the speakers, the music blares almost painfully loud. True to Pete’s word, it does change after a little bit to something a bit less jarring. The wall of top 40s pop slowly becomes interspersed with moments of 80s synth and upbeat alt rock.

He doesn’t see Brendon or Ryan. Nobody he asks has either. They must be arriving late, or maybe they never found a way to make it at all. Maybe Ryan finally felt guilty enough to come clean.

Maybe.

Not even Patrick’s softer musical touch can stop the headache blooming between Spencer’s temples. He gets a stamp on his hand and pushes his way outdoors, breathing in the fresh night air.

Most of the teachers are chaperoning inside. Spencer doesn’t take more than fifty steps away from the gym before he smells pot.

He finds a group of friends sitting in the back of a pickup. Jon isn’t there, but it just takes a few steps more before he does make out a hunched figure sitting against the brick sign that boasts their school’s name. Jon doesn’t startle as Spencer sits down in the grass beside him.

“Hey,” says Spencer softly. “What are you doing out here?”

Jon picks at the grass between his feet and shrugs.

Spencer sighs. He doesn’t know what’s gone wrong between him and Jon, but he misses him. He never thought he could form another friendship so quickly with anyone other than Ryan, but Spencer finds himself longing for Jon’s easy wit and conversation almost as much as he misses his best friend.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says. “I know you told me you wanted space. I can go if you want me to.”

He starts to get up. Jon’s back flexes as he takes a deep breath in, before he raises his head and says, “You don’t have to go.”

Jon looks terrible. He must have been smoking earlier, because his eyes are red. His mouth is turned down under his scruff and his hair is even messier than normal, the kind of rat nest Spencer recognizes from when he runs his hands through his own hair too many times. But when Spencer sits back down and their shoulders brush Jon is as warm and stable as ever.

“What are you doing out here?” Jon asks, looking straight ahead out across the parking lot. “I thought you’d be inside.”

“It’s really loud in there,” Spencer shrugs. He hesitates, because the last time he gave a truthful answer Jon had stopped speaking to him. “I’m waiting too. Ryan and Brendon haven’t shown up yet.”

Jon just sighs. Right.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes. Spencer misses that familiar warmth when Jon shifts away, tucking his arms between his bent up legs. The beats from the gym sound muddy and far. Spencer watches the cars roll down the street, releasing piles more teenagers, some more drunk than others, to lay siege to the party.

He wonders if there’s something wrong with him, that makes him incapable of being one of those people. He wonders if maybe he and Ryan didn’t screw up somewhere, if maybe his mom was right to have worried about them disappearing into a world of two. Spencer barely feels like the same species of other teenagers sometimes.

He’s tired of being an island.

“Can I tell you something?”

Jon lifts his head. In his hands, he’s been stringing together pieces of grass, splitting the seams of each one and weaving a sort of chain. He shrugs.

“It’s about Ryan,” Spencer adds.

Jon sighs. “I told you I don’t want to talk about that.”

At least it’s a response. Spencer takes a deep breath and tries again, “It’s sort of important. It’s about our fight. I’m going to tell Brendon tonight.”

Jon’s hands are gentle even as he worries the grass chain between his fingers. He finally looks over at Spencer, mouth turned down. “I like you, Spencer, but Brendon’s my friend. If what you say is going to hurt him, that’s a problem. You know what he’s going through at home right now.”

“I know,” Spencer says levelly, because he does, “but it’s not like you think. There are things you don’t know.”

Jon gives an irritable shake of his head. “I’ve been in sour relationships before. Fights happen. Sometimes, they really suck. I’m sorry that that happened with you and Ryan, but it’s been almost a month. Brendon and Ryan are dating. He’s happy. They’re both happy. Can’t you just be happy for them? Isn’t that enough?”

That stings.

Spencer sits up, a wave of heat running down his arms and legs.

“I’m not trying to sabotage them,” Spencer denies. It comes out more defensively than he meant it.

Jon sits up too. The grass chain is crushed to the ground as he twists around to face Spencer.

“You’ve done nothing but complain about them since I met you,” Jon says sharply. `“I get it. You were hurt. But I’m not going to let you hurt Brendon just because you’re pissed Ryan left you.”

“Ryan is lying!” Spencer nearly screams, pounding his fist in the dirt. “I’m not trying to hurt Brendon. I’m trying to save him!”

Its quiet for a second. Then, Jon inhales sharply. “What?”

Spencer breathes heavily. He’s hot in a way that makes him want to hit things. He buries his fingers into the grass, gripping until he feels the blade give away under his hands.

When he opens his eyes again, Jon is staring right at him. His face is pale and his fingers are twisting that grass chain into smithereens.

“What did you mean by that, Spencer?” he asks slowly, carefully. “Why does Brendon need to be saved?”

Spencer very nearly closes his eyes again. He doesn’t, only because Jon puts a hand on his knee and waits.

“Ryan is lying,” he says again softly. “I’ve been trying to make him stop, but he isn’t listening to me. I haven’t told anyone but I—I can’t keep this a secret anymore.”

Jon’s grip on his knee is gentle, but his eyes are fierce. He leans in, picking up one of Spencer’s hands from the dirt and curling his fingers into it. Spencer’s breath stutters.

“What did Ryan do, Spencer?” Jon asks quietly. “Did he hurt you?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. It’s not like you’re thinking. Ryan isn’t violent.”

“But he hurt you.” There’s certainty in Jon’s voice. His fingers tighten on Spencer’s. “Please don’t lie to me.”

Spencer chuckles humorlessly. “I’m trying not to.”

“You said you need to talk to Ryan and Brendon tonight,” says Jon, shaking his head as he seems to realizes something. “I should have listened. You’ve been saying it all week. What’s going on, Spencer? What have you been trying to say?”

Jon’s fingers are tight in Spencer’s own. His eyes are warm brown trimmed in gold.

Spencer opens his mouth and tells him the truth.

He tells Jon _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we finally made it to the dance. Getting closer to the end people!


	9. Chapter 9

Spencer tells Jon everything.

And Jon—

Jon grows stiff and rigid. The open curiosity in his eyes shuts down.

He rips his hand from Spencer’s, forms it into a fist, and—

“I’m going to kill him,” Jon says and storms back towards the dance.

Spencer sits stupidly on the grass a few seconds longer, before scrambling to his feet and running after him. It doesn’t matter how quick he is. Jon beats him inside easily. Spencer wastes several precious moments shoving his stamped hand at the girl working the entrance, then pushes his way in after him.

The gymnasium is even louder than Spencer remembers it. If Patrick is still DJing he’s done well working the dance floor up into a frenzy. Spencer just barely catches sight of Jon’s head ducking into the crowd before he loses him. Spencer stumbles forward and pushes in after him.

Spencer is so, so stupid. Why would he come clean _now?_ When Jon was already pissed at him? What the fuck was he thinking?

Spencer’s only saving grace is the fact that Brendon and Ryan have been missing all night. If Spencer couldn’t find them with all of his searching before this, what is to say Jon will have better luck.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of hopelessly being thrashed around in the crowd he spots the top of Jon’s head making its way towards the sound booth.

By the time Spencer makes it behind the speakers, whatever Jon’s said to Pete has made his usual smile fall. Pete’s eyes find Spencer as he comes out of the dancers, worried but mostly confused. “What’s going on?” Pete asks, looking between the two of them. Patrick is still at the booth, but with headphones over his ears he only glances at them and frowns.

“Have you seen them or not?” Jon demands of Pete, ignoring Spencer entirely.

Pete’s brows pinch together. “Like I told Spencer already, _no_. They’re not here, man. I told you I’d let you know when I see them.”

“Jon, please,” begs Spencer, coming forward and trying to draw him away. “Just calm down.”

Jon shakes Spencer from his arm roughly. “Don’t,” he says. The lines of his neck are all tense. Jon doesn’t look at him.

“I know you’re mad,” Spencer says quickly. He keeps his hands to himself this time, crumbling his fingers into fists at his sides. “Believe me. I get it. I’m pretty angry at him too.”

“Him?” There’s a curl on Jon’s face Spencer has never seen before. When his eyes cut to Spencer’s there is nothing warm there. It’s like being cut by a broken bottle. “What about _you_? You fucking let it get this far, Spencer.”

Spencer steps back, stung. “I was going to tell him. You _know_ that. That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time!”

Jon scoffs. “Yeah? Then why haven’t you?”

Spencer is humiliated to find himself blinkly rapidly at the face of Jon’s derision. “It’s—I’ve told you before,” he defends himself, drawing his arms across his chest, “It’s complicated. Ryan’s my best friend. I’ve been _trying_.”

Jon just stares down at him. “Maybe you should have tried harder.”

The protests in Spencer’s chest crowd up in his throat like a weight. He doesn’t know what to say. Jon’s _right_. He’s always been right. Spencer’s been a coward about this whole thing.

“Guys, seriously _,_ ” cuts in Pete, stepping between them with both palm raised. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Ask _him_ ,” sneers Jon, jerking his head at Spencer and turning his back on all of them. Pete turns his wide-eyed stare at Spencer, who has no answers for him. None. Spencer can’t even shrugs his shoulders because his entire body is stress locked into place.

“Spencer?” Pete steps closer to him, looking extremely uncertain. “You guys are freaking me out here, buddy.”

“I—” stutters Spencer. His jaw locks, throat working but no more sounds coming out. His body rocks with the force of them wanting to boil out, but it’s all garbage. “Pete, I—It’s just—I can’t—”

It’s useless.

Of course, that’s the moment when Jon stands tall at the sight of something across the gym. Spencer doesn’t need to look to know who Jon has just spotted. It’s written on every line of his face.

Spencer turns anyway. He spots Ryan with the skill of years, standing hunched and awkward as he peers around the dance. Brendon is beside him, beaming, an arm slung around Ryan’s waist as he pulls him immediately into the thick of the crowd. There’s no telling why they’re so late. It doesn’t really matter. All that matters in that second is grabbing Jon’s wrist as he starts to walk away.

“Jon,” croaks Spencer, shot by the way Jon whirls around an glares at him. Spencer’s hand lets go automatically. Jon disappears into the crowded dance floor.

Spencer takes two steps to follow him, before Pete winds up in his way. “Dude,” says Pete, no smile on his face at all. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing.” Spencer attempts to step around him, neck craning to try to see what’s happening on the dance floor, but Pete doesn’t budge. “Pete, _move_. We need to stop him.”

“Why?” demands Pete.

“We don’t have time for this!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Jesus, Pete! Will you just fucking move!”

Spencer pushes at Pete. It happens in a flash of anger that burns hot and quick and leaves Pete stumbling back to the sound booth, bumping into Patrick, who yelps, “Hey!”

There’s a skip in the music—the song cutting mid-beat to something new—but Spencer doesn’t have time to stand back and apologize. In that moment when the dancing stops and heads turn Spencer can just make out a circle still moving in the center of the dance floor. Moving and howling as if what they’re circling around as nothing at all to do with the music.

Spencer takes off in a dead sprint. He hears Pete yell and take off after him.

They break through to the center of the dance floor just in time to see Jon squaring off with Brendon and Ryan. The dance has halted around them. Brendon has one hand on Ryan’s chest, pushing him behind him, as Jon hisses something fervently and points.

Ryan finds Spencer immediately. He’s not greeted by the furious expression Spencer expected. Ryan looks scared—wide-eyed and frozen the way Spencer’s only seen a few times before, back when they were kids and Ryan let Spencer play at his house when his dad was home. It doesn’t matter that Spencer is still mad at him and hurt. All that is pushed under the surge of protectiveness he experiences as Ryan’s eyes fall to the floor. He stalks forward, finally getting near enough to make out what Jon is saying over the music.

“He’s _lying_ to you, Brendon! Spencer told me himself. He’s doesn’t even like you!”

“Would you stop saying that! Why would you say that?”

“Look at him, Brendon.” Jon flings an hand at Ryan. Spencer is the one to see him flinch. “Ask him!”

Brendon looks close to crying. Like Spencer, he’s wearing a nice button-down shirt, but he’s already disheveled. His face is red and splotchy as he shakes his head. “Why are you doing this? You said you were cool with this.”

“I _am_ , Brendon,” Jon insists, lowering his volume in the face of Brendon’s distress. “What I’m not cool with is _him_.” There’s nothing forgiving on Jon’s face when he turns back on Ryan. “You’re a fucking liar Ryan Ross.”

Ryan takes a half step behind Brendon, clutching at the back of his shirt with white knuckles. Spencer can’t stand it anymore and steps in closer. Jon notices him, but only stiffens. Brendon looks like his worst nightmare is coming true.

Spencer doesn’t have eyes for anyone but Ryan. “Ryan,” he calls softly, watching the way his best friend’s shoulders hitch. “You need to tell him.” Ryan’s eyes don’t raise from the floor, but Spencer knows he can hear him. He steps forward again. “Ryan, come on. It’s over.”

Jon huffs loudly a few feet away. Brendon steps between Spencer and Ryan, jaw tight and working. Spencer feels bad for the guy, honestly he does, but if he tries to keep Spencer away from Ryan again Spencer is going to fight him.

“Back off,” Brendon says. “What is wrong with both of you?”

“Brendon—” starts Jon.

“No! I don’t want to hear it.” Brendon turns his back, reaches out and catching hold of Ryan’s hand. He says softly, “Come on. Let’s go.”

He starts to walk away. Ryan doesn’t move. Brendon stops as Ryan’s hand slips out of his grip.

Ryan stares at the floor, curling his hand back into his body. His shoulders are up around his ears.

“Ryan, please,” Brendon pleads. There’s a crack in his voice that spells nothing but confusion. “Forget these guys. We can just go.”

Ryan doesn’t move. After a long minute, he mutters almost too quietly to hear, “I can’t.”

“Ryan, _please_. I know you didn’t want to come. I’m sorry. Please, can we just go now?”

He reaches for Ryan’s hand again. Ryan pulls away.

Brendon’s face is painful to look at.

“He’s lying to you,” Jon says, narrowed eyes jumping between the two of them. The tilt of his mouth is unmoved. “Brendon, listen to us. This was never real to him. He’s just using you.”

This seems to be Brendon’s tipping point.

“For what!” he exclaims, flinging his arms out and turning on them. “What the fuck for, Jon? You’re not making any sense.”

Jon brings his hands up for peace. “He just wanted a relationship,” Jon says clearly. “It didn’t matter with who. He doesn’t care about you. He was planning on leaving you the whole time.”

“That’s not true!” says Brendon.

“You’re just a prop to him,” Jon insists. His voice is that gentle firmness Spencer loves. It’s painful in this moment. Jon’s glare runs over to Ryan. “Tell him,” he commands.

Slowly, Brendon turns around. His face is wide and open—hopeful. Ryan stares at the floor, bent and scared and guilty. Brendon must see it. He’s not an idiot. He must see there’s something wrong there. Something in his eyes darkens.

“Ryan?” Brendon walks closer, putting his hands on Ryan arm. Spencer’s stomach drops when Ryan flinches. He starts to walk closer, only to run into Jon’s arm blocking his way.

“Don’t, Spencer,” says Jon tightly.

Spencer bites his lip and stops. He watches as Ryan reluctantly lifts his eyes from the ground, looking up at Brendon. It isn’t hard to see how shiny his eyes are.

“What’s going on, Ryan?” Brendon asks softly. Ryan just shakes his head. If possible, Brendon gets even gentler. “Please, Ryan. Just tell me that they’re wrong.”

Ryan bites his lip. “I can’t.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” Brendon says, louder this time. The onlookers that surround them stir, scenting blood in the water. “What do you mean you can’t? You’re my boyfriend! You love me. I know you do!”

Ryan’s noticed the crowd too. Spencer sees it in the way his eyes flicker around them. “Stop it, Brendon,” he mutters quietly, pushing at the hand on his arms. “We can talk about this later.”

“Why not now?” demands Brendon. He’s grown more erratic. He tries to take Ryan’s hand but Ryan isn’t having it, crossing his arms across his chest. Brendon throws his hands up in despair. “You love me. I know you do. Just say that you love me!”

Ryan’s whole body freezes. Spencer’s breath catches. He knows before it happens the stillness that will come over Ryan at those words. Ryan blinks and every bit of him that could be hurt crawls under the blanket of his blank affect.

Ryan’s voice is flat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” says Brendon. “Ryan, you’re my boyfriend.”

“No,” says Ryan simply—he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t even speak softly, “I’m not.”

Brendon stops. He doesn’t even seem to breathe. Then his whole body seems to shudder and collapse. His head droops, his shoulders contract, his hands fall down beside his sides. “Are you—wait, are you breaking up with me?”

For a long moment, Ryan doesn’t say anything. Brendon may as well be speaking with a brick wall. Eventually he says, voice monotone, “It doesn’t matter. None of this was real anyway.”

The punch comes out of nowhere.

Spencer doesn’t see it, doesn’t hear it, just sees the moment Ryan collapses. Then he sees Jon standing above Ryan, and then Pete flying out of nowhere from behind them to wrap his arms around Jon’s waist and push him back. Brendon stands behind them in all this, blinking down like his world is breaking. The dance around them has gone quiet.

That’s all Spencer takes in before he’s on his knees next to Ryan. “Shit,” he mutters, cupping Ryan’s face where blood is pouring out his nose. His lip is split too. “Shit, shit, shit. Are you okay?”

Under all the blood, Ryan’s face is still blank and neutral. He doesn’t even cup his nose as he pushes himself up, ignoring Spencer’s hands as he clumsily gets to his feet. Spencer doesn’t let him get far, clutching at Ryan’s shoulders like he’s bound to fall over again.

“Sorry,” Ryan mutters. His gaze is locked somewhere over Spencer’s shoulders.

Spencer turns and meets Jon’s eyes across the distance of a few feet. He finds them as wide as he imagines his own are.

It’s Brendon that Ryan’s words were meant for. Brendon who doesn’t say a single other word. Just breaks through the hands of Pete and Jon that try to grab him and walks away.

Ryan ducks his head. Without a word, he breaks from Spencer’s grasp and pushes through the crowd. It parts for him instantly. He leaves drops of blood on the gymnasium floor.

Spencer is after him in the next moment. “Ryan!”

A hand on his wrist stops him. Spencer looks over to find Jon holding him back. Pete’s let him go, straining to see where Brendon’s gone. Jon’s golden eyes have nothing but Spencerin sight. “Leave him, Spencer. He did this to himself.”

Something ugly crawls up his throat. It’s the kind of ugly thing he’s been swallowing down for years, burying it under polite smiles and adverted eyes. The kind of thing he chokes on every time Ryan’s climbed through his window in the dead of night or grown silent at the sight of a bottle.

Spencer can’t fight Ryan’s father, but Ryan’s father is not the one who just hurt him.

Spencer yanks his hand away from Jon and pushes him in the chest. Jon stumbles back with a startled noise. Instantly Pete is swinging around to come between them, palms up, “Hey, hey, fucking cool it, you two.”

Jon blinks up at Spencer in shock.

Spencer knows his face is twisting, the ugliness inside him clawing to the surface. He jabs a finger into Jon’s chest. “You don’t hit him,” Spencer says. “You don’t ever hit him.”

For a moment, a flash of something raw and sad scrawls across Jon’s face. Then Pete’s in front of him, pushing Spencer back. The next time he looks, the expression on Jon’s face is furious.

“Dude!” Jon hisses. “Are you serious right now?”

Spencer just shakes his head, so angry he’s doesn’t know if he wants to cry or hit something. He can’t deal with this right now. He can’t deal with any of it. He needs to go find Ryan. He always needs to go find Ryan. He needs to make sure he’s alright.

He pushes away from Jon and Pete, pushes his way through the crowd, and escapes out into the night.

At least, he thinks as he scurries out over the parking lot, at least the worst is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my indulgence fic. Please indulge me. Also — this is the second punch I wrote in the past week or so. Funny how that works out. 
> 
> If you're looking for something else to read once you finish this, I recommend [No Mean Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401951)  
> by [Arsenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic). Honestly, I could rec probably 100 different Arsenic stories, so really take your pick there.


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